All Our Yesterdays
by Carol Grissom
Summary: A strong electrical storm, a mysterious death. Finding out who the murderer is might be the key to all of Draco Malfoy’s problems; or it might make him lose the only thing that has left - his life.
1. Prologue: Blood, Rain and Death

All Our Yesterdays

Translator: Carol Grissom

Author: Flora Fairfield

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, or Flora's****

**Beta'd by:** Calliandra and George Holt

Summary: A strong electrical storm, a mysterious death. Finding out who is the murderer is might be the key to all of Draco Malfoy's problems; or it might make him lose the only thing that has left - his life.

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A/N: Well, this fic is originally written in Portuguese, and I'd like to thank Flora Fairfield, the author, for letting me translate it. And I also would like to thank my beta, Calliandra, who is helping me so much, and George, whose help is so precious...

It's rated R due to some violence and Draco's really dirty mouth, I just thought you should know.

I hope you enjoy the story!

Prologue - Blood, Rain and Death

Erick McDermontt was an old man. His hair was already white and the marks of the age were visible on his face - the wrinkles, the expression lines. His eyes couldn't see as before, but he stubbornly resisted going to a doctor. He didn't want to wear glasses. He was old, and thought it was too late to change anything in his life.

That day he had decided to go downtown. He needed to get his order of sheeps' ration. He had done that on Fridays, twice a month, for over ten years. He lived in a small town, practically a village, where changes weren't common, or wanted. His parents had lived in the same house he lived today - it wasn't huge or comfortable, but it was enough. It was his parents who had taught Erick to take care of the sheeps. His family had owned the small farm for centuries. Literally, for centuries. There was a time when he had thoughts about leaving, moving, trying a life somewhere else, but those thoughts had passed. No, in the end, Erick ended up doing exactly what everybody expected: those days of rebellion didn't last long.

Now, he lived alone. He never got married, he didn't have children, or brothers, or nephews or nieces. After his death, the farm would pass to another family's hands. Before then, however, he was taking care of everything. He had help from one of the boys from town who, God knows why, liked to hear the old man's stories, and used to work at the farm. In the clipping time, of course, he had to hire more people, but, other than that, there wasn't much to be done. It was a peaceful life, quiet, where every day seemed to take an eternity to pass.

At the end of that afternoon, while driving his old red truck-car through the desert road, Erick looked at the sky and saw it again: the clouds he feared since he put the ration in the car and left the city. There was a storm coming, and he rushed to get home before it. He needed to check and make sure that all the animals were safe and after that, check the windows and unplug all the electrical things in the house. He had many years of experience with storms like this, though, and they told him there wouldn't be enough time for preparations.

Before he arrived at the farm, the rain began to pour from the sky. In those desolate plains, the storms tended to be devastating. The water fell in thick sheets so strong that it was difficult for Erick to see the way. He was driving blind; the sky was dark as if it were night, and the world was lit in brief flashes by bolts of lightning. Maybe if he were a younger man -one who had never seen this phenomenon before- he might have been frightened, but, old as he was, Erick had witnessed such huge demonstrations of the force of nature many times before.

He didn't have his raincoat with him, so he couldn't avoid getting soaked after getting out of the car, where he parked in front of the door to the house. He took a quick look at the sheeps' shelter, and then, he risked a glance at the oak - the feared oak. It was that damn tree that gave him a bad reputation in the city. It rose imminent, right in the middle of his property, and even now, Erick had no idea of how it grew there. One day, in the morning, almost eleven years ago, he woke up and the tree simply was there. From night to day.

In a city where the changes are slow and gradual, having a tree that grows in less than twelve hours, which normally would take years, couldn't be a good thing. The oak was there, against all possibilities and explanations. Erick tried everything. A botanist came to study the phenomenon, lots of people came just to see it. The tree was examined in every possible way, and nobody found anything out of the ordinary with it. At least not until they tried to bring it down: manual saws, axes, and any cutting tool they used broke the minute it touched the wood. The electric saw simply blew up, wounding three people nearby, and, when they finally decided to use a tractor, it lost control, hitting the tree by its side instead of knocking it down and the driver died, thrown out of the seat. After this, they gave up. And Erick had to reconcile with the strange looks he still received in the city, even after so many years.

He tried to convince himself that, for every strange thing that happened around the oak, there was a rational explanation, but deep inside, he didn't believe that. There was something very weird, and very wrong. And the shivers he felt every time he looked at the tree didn't help. He avoided facing it, especially during a storm, when the devil seemed to free its demons to the world. But at the end of that afternoon his curiosity won over his fear, and Erick took a look in the oak's direction.

It happened at that exact moment. In a sinister synchronism, a lightning bolt struck the tree. It was an astounding vision; sky and earth connected during a quick flash of a twisted shining wire. Time seemed to freeze, and Erick withdrew, scared. The whole thing didn't last more than a heartbeat, but he stood a few seconds, motionless in the rain; all his tasks were forgotten while he waited for a reaction from the tree.

Nothing happened.

Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. The lightning had passed, and everything was alright in the world. Except, perhaps, for the tree in the middle of the meadow. It was cracked.

"Finally," Erick thought. Something was capable of destroying the damn oak. His body trembled with a shiver when he heard the sound of another thunder falling close. He knew it was madness. He knew he should get in and check the windows, and the outlets, and the sheep, but he couldn't make it. There was something more powerful acting there. Acting through him. Erick felt compelled to go to the tree. He needed to see the damage. Needed to know what happened.

It was at this moment that he saw her. The plain was once more illuminated by a flash of lightning. Erick's gaze was stuck on the tree. At first, there was nothing, and in the next moment, there she was. Delineated against the night, the silhouette of a woman. She seemed white, almost translucent, and was naked, standing still, erected, with her hands joined in front of her body, emanating a wave of almost concrete sadness. She looked like a ghost.

Erick knew he should turn around and run away. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to get inside the house, away from the mysteries of that tree. But he couldn't. Against his will, against his better instincts, he realized he was advancing toward the woman. He tried to tell himself that it was insane, that the oak had killed a man before, but he was deaf to the callings of his own conscience. He had to see it. Had to feel it.

The rain was falling heavily from the sky. The soil beneath his feet was now mud. It was difficult to walk, and to see. He didn't stop, though. Shortly after he had started walking, the world trembled with the sound of thunder. The meadow was illuminated by its lightning, but this time there was nothing more than a cracked tree planted in the earth. The woman was gone. He trembled.

He slowed down, but didn't stop. He needed to unmask that mystery once and for all. He needed to know what kind of apparition that was, what kind of ghost was scaring his sheeps at night. He lowered his head, to protect his tired

eyes from the water droplets that rained down harder and harder, and went ahead. He almost slipped on the soft mud once or twice, but he kept walking.

He passed through the fence and went up a small hill. The tree rose high, tall and foreboding. Beside it, was the place where the woman had appeared. Nothing was there.

The lightning had struck the oak at full force, practically breaking it in two. Erick walked a few more steps in the tree's direction and stumbled across something on the ground. Intrigued, he grabbed the object with trembling hands. It was a small piece of glass that definitively shouldn't have been there; he cut his finger on one of the sharp edges, and dropped it in surprise. The cut opened and bled, blood falling in drops onto the ground, joining the rain and mud. Erick didn't stop. "Only a few more steps," he repeated mentally. His legs unwillingly obeyed.

Just a few more innocent steps, he thought. Soon he reached the tree. And everything became clear. His scream raised through the night, among the rain and the thunders, above all the noises of the storm. A horrified scream.

Erick slid to the ground and knelt on the ground. There was sand coming out of the cracked tree, from the interior of its trunk. Sand. It wasn't a bright sand. It was gray, dark, and joined the water of rain and the mud and the blood. Sand. Erick extended his hand to touch it, but he couldn't. He felt his stomach churn. In all his life he had never seen such a scene. He stood up quickly and moved away only to fall on the ground again and vomit. Then, he managed to stand up and run. He ran back home. He slid in the slick mud and stumbled the whole the way, but he kept running and running until he arrived at the door and entered his house. Inside, he closed his eyes, trying to leave that terrible image outside. It was impossible. The image was seared in his mind and he would be pursued by it in his dreams until the day of his death.

Trembling, tired, soaking and scared to the bone, he extended his hand to the phone and dialed the number. He needed help. He needed the police. Because, on his property, inside of that damned tree, he had found the body of a woman. Naked, parched, and dead for a long time. A woman! For God's sake, a woman, buried in the sand, inside the oak. An image out of his worse nightmares, sent by a demon.

Erick was trembling. He couldn't speak on the phone. How could he tell that story? How could he say he finally figured out the secret of the mysterious oak? And how to say that it was worse than anything anyone could think of? Trembling, he used the wall as a support and slid to the floor, the phone firmly imprisoned against his chest. He closed his eyes and there she was: dead. Lost, without knowing what to do, or knowing if he was capable of doing anything, Erick stared at the white ceiling of his house, praying to all the saints he knew, trying to ignore the roars of the storm outside and the smell of death in the air. He couldn't. In that night, not all the prayers in the world would have been enough.


	2. Chapter 1: The awake

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All Our Yesterdays

Translator: Carol Grissom****

Author: Flora Fairfield

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Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, or Flora's

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e-mail: 

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Beta'd by: Sophie San and George Holt

Chapter 1 - The awake

The alarm-clock was ringing insistently. Of all the disadvantages of his work, that was the worst. Draco Malfoy hated to wake up early. He always associated it with mere mortals. A Malfoy didn't have to wake up early, because it wasn't necessary to work for him to live. A Malfoy could simply sleep. When he finally feels like getting up, the house elves would have everything ready - food, clothes, bath - and waiting. Unfortunately, for Draco Malfoy this wasn't the case.

Annoyed, he opened his eyes and sat in the bed, putting his feet on the floor. Immediately, the alarm-clock was silent. It was charmed to be quiet as soon as its owner was awoken and had their feet out of bed. If Draco came back to bed, however, the alarm clock would cry out again. Having had bad experiences with it in the past, Malfoy didn't take the risk. He just pushed off his blankets and left for the bathroom.

First, he turned on the shower, so that the water could get warm while he washed his face and brushed his teeth. Then, he took off his clothes automatically and got in the shower, letting the water wake him up. All his mornings were practically the same. He spent around fifteen minutes in the shower. When he finished, he dried himself well. He hated to leave of the bathroom still dripping all over the house. He rolled up the towel around his waist, shaved in front of the mirror and went back to the bedroom opening his wardrobe. The clothes he would use were already separated, impeccably. So, Draco took off the towel and put on his underwear, then he buttoned his grey long sleeve shirt. He put on his black pants, and finally, he put on a tie, which was a darker grey than his shirt, around his neck and made the knot with skillful hands. He was accustomed to that.

He folded the sleeves to the middle of his forearm and went back to the bathroom. He carefully combed his hair back. When it dried, it would inevitably fall in his face, but for the time being it was impeccable. After conferming everything was correct, Draco went back to the bedroom and caught his suit coat of the suit he was using and his black cloak. He didn't make his bed. Why would he do that? When he got back at night, everything would be ready.

Leaving the coat and the cloak hanging up in the small living room, he went to the kitchen and lit the stove. He took the frying-pan, poured a bit of oil in it and than, he broke two eggs and poured them in the pan. With a fork, he mixed the eggs and, putting the frying-pan on the stove, he bewitched it so that it would turn over its content by itself, not letting it stick. After doing it, he took some water from the fridge and put it to boil in a kettle. Draco took a look at his watch and opened the kitchen window. Exactly in that moment, a buff owl settled in the railing. Draco took the Daily Prophet copy from its paws and put some coins in the small bag it was carrying. Automatically, the owl flew away, leaving Malfoy alone in the kitchen again.

So, he sat down at the table beside the fridge and opened the newspaper. It was essential for him to keep himself aware of everything that happened in the wizarding world.

Taking a quick look at the main news, he couldn't hold back a tired sigh. There wasn't anything truly new there: the Gringotts' goblins were pressuring the Ministry to increase the profit taxes, a new sleeping potion was discovered in France and Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived-Many-Times, would play in another Quiddich World Cup for England. This almost made Draco wish he were born in Ireland.

Discarding the sports section, Malfoy opened up the newspaper and prepared himself to read the news more deeply when suddenly he was interrupted by the phone's strident ring. He mentally cursed it. He hated that thing, and only used it out of necessity. That was another disadvantage of his work.

He stood up, extremely annoyed - he also couldn't stand to be interrupted during the morning reading of the newspaper - and went to the living room to take the call.

"Malfoy," he said, identifying himself, as soon as he had picked up the phone.

"Malfoy, I know it's you. I'm calling to your house, aren't I?" asked the familiar voice. "What other man could answer it?"

"What do you want?" he asked in a bad mood.

"Is this the way to treat your informant?"

"What do you want?" he repeated, ignoring the last comment.

"I've got something for you."

"What is it? I haven't seen anything interesting in the newspaper so far."

"But this news wasn't published by the Daily Prophet yet. Neither do the aurors know it."

"You're not gonna waste my time, are you?"

"It's about Ginny, Malfoy. Would I joke about that?" the other said in a serious tone. Draco took a few seconds before speaking again.

"We'll meet for lunch. Twelve o'clock, same place."

"Okay. See you later," the other said and rung off the phone, without waiting for an answer. Draco put the phone back on the base and took a few instants to digest what he just heard before going back to the kitchen.

The kettle was whistling. He hadn't realized that.

"Shit!" he cried, running when he saw the water was bubbling over. He turned off the flame and, holding a cloth, tried to pick up the kettle. Momentarily he forgot that the frying-pan was still there and bumped it with his right hand.

"Shit!" he said again because of the pain. He took the frying-pan with his burnt hand and threw both things in the sink.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" he repeated kicking the cupboard one, two, three times. He threw the cloth he was holding against the wall with anger. "This life sucks," he said, finally, puffed, staring at his hands, tired. One of them was burnt, the other still carried the wedding ring. Draco was feeling particularly lost that day. More than usual.

He passed the left hand through his hair, nervous, uncombing it. The burning persisted so he turned on the water to wash it, then he muttered a spell to heal it. It was seven o'clock. He still had some time before leaving, but he lost all interest in his food and in the news. So, he shut off the stove, it was still lighted, unfolded his shirt sleeves, put on his coat, and cloak, and apparated to work, muttering that the day was already a disaster.

When Draco arrived, the floor was still empty. The building where Draco worked was an annex of the Ministry of Magic Building, where all the central offices of the wizarding police were situated. Like the muggle police, the wizarding police had many different departments. Malfoy started to work with them two years after his graduation from Hogwarts. His first intention was to become an auror, but he ended up changing his mind. The aurors investigated only crimes involving the dark arts and were considered the elite of the force. Tired, Draco walked among the empty desks until he reached his small room, separated from the others by glass partitions, so that he could see everything that happened around him at all times.

Sitting down at his desk, Malfoy looked through the glass at the wall at the other side of the office for a long time. The wall was covered by the many photographs hung on it - photos of happy, smiling people, waving. Those were photos of the people who they had rescued. Draco was the head of the Missing Persons Department. Most of the time, they made quick work of the cases: a lost child in Diagon Alley, somebody that, for some reason, was delayed coming home, an adolescent who ran away. Simple cases. There were others, more complicated, of course: abductions, kidnappings, charms that didn't work out, wizards who had lost themselves in other dimensions, potions to shrink, time traveling, deaths. Each safe and sound person added a photo in the wall. The unsolved cases, however, were accumulating in the archives and shelves. Working there, you learned fast to be happy with what you could do and move on when there was simply nothing left to do. Draco encouraged his investigators not to get stuck on passed cases, to forget the people they couldn't find. He himself, however, wasn't very good at following his own advice. And the biggest proof of that was the fact that he was still there and hadn't taken the admissions test to become an auror. People thought it was because the Ministry wouldn't accept a Malfoy in a position of investigating crimes connected to the dark arts, and Draco never said they were wrong. Just ignored the comments and moved on.

The work of those wizards was little valued, of course. The aurors were the stars and all others, most of the times, were forgotten. Usually, people only stopped to think how hard it is to find someone when this someone really has disappeared. Most often, it wasn't even possible to use localizer charms. For them to work, it was necessary that the missing person was carrying some kind of amulet, working as a kind of signal buoy to the charm. It's not possible to simply find a person using just a wand and a map. The investigators didn't count on methods much different than the ones used by the muggle police, and if you consider that they had no computers with a fingerprint and DNA data base, you could really say that they were at a disadvantage in some aspects.That was another thing Draco hated about his work: the fact that many times a simple muggle could find someone faster than they could. That, and; of course, the fact that they were probably the department that most often had to exchange information with the muggle police. After all, a missing person can easily be in either one of both worlds. For this reason, Draco had to wear muggle clothes, to carry a credential of the muggle government, to use a phone and; the worst part, to talk and live with muggles. He hated, but still did his job, and did it well.

A year and a half ago he assumed the head of the department and, since then, they had a success level above sixty five percent. He felt proud of it. Very proud, but he couldn't avoid thinking of how ironic the situation was.

"Sir." He heard his secretary calling from the door. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize how much time had passed. His secretary had arrived and some other investigators throughout the room.

"Yes, Anne," he answered.

"I'd like to remind you of the meeting at nine o'clock..." she started.

"I know. I didn't forget it. Is that all?" Malfoy asked dryly. Anne already was too accustomed to him to be offended.

"Yes. Here's your mail," she said, putting some envelopes on the desk. "Excuse me, Sir," she concluded, leaving the room.

As soon as she closed the door, Draco took the letters, taking a quick look at the return addresses. Most of them had no importance at all: advertisings, letters of gratitude, memoranda. All of them went to the drawer, theatrically to be read later. He knew, however, it would never happen.

Only two were left: the first one had the calm and perfect calligraphy of his mother. It wasn't the first letter he received from her. Actually, Narcissa had the annoying habit of writing frequently. He could have put it along with the pile that would never be opened, but, somehow, he didn't think it was enough. Without hesitating and opening the letter at least to have an idea of what it said, Draco placed it on the ash tray of rock he had on his desk, and; with his wand, conjured a small flame that consumed the envelope.

Finally, only one letter remained. It had the seal of the Ministry of Magic of the United States. Draco kept in touch with them and received regular information from their Missing Persons Department. For a few moments, he held the envelope between his fingers. He knew it was foolish, that it made no sense, that it was a useless torture, but he couldn't avoid it. He knew its content before opening it, and still he couldn't simply ignore it, like the others.

With a final sigh, he tore the paper and opened the letter quickly, passing his eyes over the so familiar words - "I'm sorry to inform... we were not able to locate... we'll keep trying and... " He was tired of that. He threw the letter in the ash tray together with the one from his mother (which had practically turned to ashes) and removed a folder from the inferior lower drawer of the desk. He had work to do. He couldn't afford to waste time with bullshit. The meeting would start in half an hour and he wanted to review one more time the plans he should discuss with his investigators.

Focusing on the real and concrete problems he had to face, Draco managed to forget all the rest. He had work to do, and that's what mattered.

"You're late," the other said as soon as he sat at the table of the small muggle restaurant. "I was about to call the Missing Persons Department!" he completed. Ironic. He knew Draco was rarely late.

"Very funny," Malfoy answered, in a bad mood. He really hated to be late, but he didn't have an option. The meeting at the department was longer than he expected. They were in the end of July. So, Diagon Alley was full of parents and kids buying the school materials for Hogwarts. The worst time for the department was Christmas. With so many people in the streets, there were always cases of kids who got separated from their parents, and there was always someone ready to take advantage of the situation. Last year, a boy who would start his first year, disappeared. The boy had gone lost, and when last seen, he was dangerously close to Knockturn Alley. They still hadn't found him, and Draco hated cases like that. That's why he proposed a special operation for this year, to avoid things like that, and his investigators had spent the entire morning, discussing the plans.

"I see your mood is radiating this morning, isn't it, Malfoy?"

"Could we get straight to the point?" he asked, giving the other a deadly look. It was bad enough to be late, but having to walk along Diagonal Alley, and then the muggle streets, and seeing all those people smiling and couples holding hands and happy kids with their parents. It was more than enough to drive Draco crazy.

"All right, look," he said, giving him a newspaper cut where the headline was "Ministry of Scotland" over a black and white static photo of a tree that seemed to been struck by something.

"But what the hell...?"

"Read. Just read it, okay, Malfoy?" the other said seriously. Draco looked back to the news and started to read, just stopping to order lunch from the waitress. "So?" the other asked when he finally rose his head from the paper.

"Where did you get this?"

"It's from a muggle newspaper. You should really stop reading only the Daily Prophet."

"Why the hell should I be interested in what happens with these idiot mug..."

"Shhh! Could you please not speak so loud?"

"Could you please go bother someone else?"

"Honestly, Malfoy, I don't know why I still help you."

"Come on, Creevey. You know exactly why you help me," Draco answered, serious. The other didn't say anything. Just faced him, more calm. He knew he was right.

"Fine. Now you tell me you didn't find it interesting?"

"If everything happened as described, and if it wasn't the invention of some nut muggle," muttered Malfoy, "yes, it's very interesting and definitely there's magic involved. But I don't know why it should be interesting to me. You should have brought it right to the aurors, right? Or get it published in the Daily Prophet."

"Now it's my turn to say: come on, Malfoy. You know exactly why I showed you this before anybody else!"

"I didn't see any evidence..." Draco stopped when the waitress came with their lunch. "... that indicates it has got something to do with her," he completed after the woman left.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Of course not!"

"Pay attention to the details! The stupid tree came from nowhere a little less than eleven years ago. Less than eleven years, Malfoy! It was a little before..."

"I know it very well! You don't have to spell it out for me!"

"And the triangle? Did you read the part regarding the triangle?"

"It's a shit of a triangle, Creevey! A shit of a triangle! Do you want me to pursue all the damned geometry professors now?"

"All I'm saying, Malfoy, is that it's a very big coincidence," the other answered with a tired sigh. And after a pause, "Look, the muggle police still couldn't identify the woman: not through fingerprints, nor DNA, nor through their missing persons' files."

"You're not trying to say..."

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to say: that maybe there's a reason for her not being in their files, that's because she's in our files!"

"You don't think this woman is..." Draco started, suddenly with no humor at all, "that she is..."

"I considered the possibility, Malfoy. I considered, but..."

"This is ridiculous." Draco threw the napkin at the table, preparing to leave. He didn't want to hear anymore.

"Could you please stop being such a spoiled child for a few seconds and simply listen, you wretch! She was my friend too, do you think it's easy for me?"

"Yes, Creevey, she was your friend. She wasn't your wife, so don't tell me to take it easy, okay?" Draco asked, his eyes sparking.

"It's not her, Malfoy," Colin said quickly, before the other roused to leave. "It's not her."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. A contact of mine in the muggle police gave me this," and he gave the other a folder. The folder had just one sheet. "They did a reconstruction of her face in the computer."

"I don't remember this face."

"She disappeared eleven years ago, Malfoy..."

"And I was already working at the department, wasn't I? I would remember of a case like this, Creevey. It was a big waste of time," Draco completed, standing up.

"You won't even investigate it? Check the files? Well then, I think I can publish it..."

"No," Malfoy answered, surrendering. "I'll send someone to look for something in the old cases. Satisfied? he completed, leaving on the table the money to pay his part of the bill. "Don't publish anything yet." And he left the restaurant, leaving his food practically untouched. He was hungry, but; after what he heard, he lost all his interest in eating.

He went back right to the office, holding tight the folder with the woman's picture and the newspaper cclipping. He tried not to admit it, but the story was intriguing him, especially the part about the triangle. He tried to tell himself that it was nothing, that it was just a triangle, but there was something deep inside his mind that didn't let him believe it.

As soon as he got back to the department, he looked for Anne. She was already sitting at her desk, dealing with some papers.

"I need you to look for something in the files for me," he said, without wasting time.

"What?" she asked, looking at him.

"This woman," he answered, giving her the folder. "I want you to look in the files if there's any case involving her.Look in the cases from eleven and twelve years ago. Whatever you have to do this afternoon, it doesn't matter, okay, Anne? Documents, reports, memoranda can wait until tomorrow. This can't."

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy," she answered, taking the folder and standing up while the other opened the door of his office and went in.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Draco checked the clock constantly, trying to imagine why Anne was taking an eternity, but he ended up convincing himself that there must have been more archives from that period than he at first thought. Finally; however, around six p.m., when he was preparing himself to go after her, Anne showed up in his office.

"Finally!" he said when he saw her.

"I'm sorry Mr. Malfoy, but it wasn't as easy as it seemed," she answered, putting on the desk the folder he had given her.

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted while putting on his cloak to leave. "Just give me the file."

"That's the problem. I didn't find any."

"There isn't a file?" he asked, somehow relieved by it.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean 'you don't know', Anne? It's simple, the file exists, or it doesn't!"

"I didn't find one, but that doesn't mean that one doesn't exist." And after a pause, "I found out that six files from the period that you mentioned are missing."

"Missing?"

"Yes, missing. These are the numbers." She gave him a paper with some numbers written. Looking at the list, Draco recognized one of them immediately.

"File 15782 is not missing. It's in my apartment," he said, serious. "And what about the others? Nobody took them?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. It's not allowed to withdraw cases..."

"I know, Anne, I know," he interrupter her again, giving her a warning look.

"Maybe they're stored in the central library."

"And why the hell would they be there? Missing persons files stay down here."

"I don't know, sir. All I know is that they're not here."

"Fine, Anne. You can go," Draco said, finally. It wasn't her fault, after all. The moment she left, Malfoy left the room, but instead of apparating home, he went upstairs, towards the central library. It contained most of the police files. Just the aurors's - involving confidential stuff most of the time, and the missing persons' files - not knowing when they might be necessary - didn't stay there.

Intrigued, Draco stopped at the balcony and rang the bell. He removed case 15782 from the list while waiting to talk to the old witch who was responsible for the files. When she came, covered by dust and with a pair of glasses hung around her neck, he asked, as politely as he could be, for her to find the folders for the cases on the list. Then, he waited for a few minutes. Many more "a few minutes." It should be easy to find the files. Wizards may not use computers, but these files were organized in a simple manner. The witch; however, took more that thirty minutes to come back, and when she did, Draco knew only by her confused expression that she didn't have what he was looking for.

"These files aren't here, Mr. Malfoy," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," she answered, offended. "They're missing persons cases, aren't they? Shouldn't they be over in your department?"

"They should, but they're not."

"It's not my fault if you can't keep your own archives organized. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other things to do."

Malfoy felt his blood rush to his head. He could feel the rude response on the tip of his tongue, but at the last minute, he managed to control himself. He couldn't simply insult that woman, since there was a good chance he'd needing her help in the future. Swallowing, so, all the insults he was about to spit out, Draco turned around and left. He was angry, yes, but; above all, he was curious. The story Creevey told him was weird and, no matter how hard he tried not to believe it, the other could still be right.

Malfoy would like to be sure the file simply didn't exist, but now it wasn't possible. And worse: case folders rarely disappeared in the wizarding world. They were bewitched not to disappear. The only reason why he managed to take case folder 15782 from the department was that he took it before being bewhitched, ten years ago. And now, all of a sudden, he discovered five files missing. Five. And the key to solving all the mysteries of his life could be in one of them.

Tired, Draco decided to go home. He apparated to his living room and dropped the woman's picture, together with the newspaper clippings he was still holding, on the table. He hung his cloak and suit coat on the chair and folded up his shirt sleeves. He was hungry. In the kitchen, he found the same mess he had left that morning. Draco looked at the stove and at the sink and couldn't find the energy to cleanup the mess. He left everything as it was, came back out to the living room and threw a hand of floo powder in the fireplace.

"Good evening, Fredo," he said, seeing the familiar face of the Italian wizard in the other side.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Malfoy. The usual?" he asked.

"Yes, the usual," Draco answered, feeling pathetic. He ordered food so frequently in that restaurant that he was well known there.

A little later, the Italian man came back with the meal and gave it to Draco through the fireplace, while Draco gave the man the money.

Leaving his dinner on the coffee table, Malfoy took the covers into the kitchen. He then sat down on the sofa and started to eat. He was starving and tired. He took a quick look at the papers on the table. The day had been very frustrating, and he knew he probably wouldn't sleep well. He would stay awake, imagining, thinking. Sleeping had brought him little pleasure lately. Principally if he dreamed about her he then had to face the tough reality that she wasn't there, sleeping beside him.

Too tired even to fight the inevitable, Draco finished eating and went to the bedroom. Took off his tie, started unbuttoning his shirt and caught sight on one of the upper shelves of the closet, the folder for the case 15782. He hadn't seen those papers for awhile. He thought it was a good sign, that he was able to leaving it all behind, but now, after everything that had happened that day, he knew it wasn't true. He was not even a little bit better than he had been one, two, five or ten years ago. He was as lost as he had been before.

He came back to the living room and, sitting again in the sofa, he opened the file on the small coffee table. Everything was still there, exactly how he remembered it: the missing person form filled with his own writting, the reports from the responsible investigators, photos of the place, a photo of her... the photo he had given so that she could be identified. She was so pretty in that photo. Draco still remembered that day as if it just happened: he had taken her on a picnic at the park in London. In muggle London. He wasn't very happy about it, but he knew it would make her happy. And he wanted to make her happy. It was everything he wished and, in the end, it ended up being all his fault.

He felt the tears filling his eyes and supported his head on the sofa, looking up to avoid them. He hated to cry. "Malfoys don't cry," he repeated in a low voice while a silent tear drained out the corner of his eye. He was tired. Tired of all this. Tired of living every minute unhappy with the painful knowledge that she wasn't there and, worse, knowing it was all his fault.

Angrily drying the tear and scolding himself for letting things reach that point, Malfoy stood up and put the documents in the folder again. He was about to go back to the bedroom and put it back in its place when he was, for the second time that day, interrupted by the strident ring of the phone.

"But what a shit!" He thought it was Creevey again to annoy him. "What do you want now?" he asked furiously when he answered it. All he wanted was to release his frustration on someone.

"The question, Mr. Malfoy, is not what I want. It's what _you_ want," a calm, controlled and unknown voice answered at the other end. Draco froze. Somehow, he knew what it was about.

"Who are you?" he asked in an urgent and distrustful voice.

"This is exactly what you have to find out, isn't it? You can't wait for me to give you all the answers, just like that," the voice said, undisturbed.

"You listen to me..." Draco started, furious. He wasn't at all in the mood for jokes.

"Would you take some advise, Mr. Malfoy?" The man in the other side interrupted him. "Don't get angry so easily. It won't get you anywhere."

"Who are you?" Draco repeated, trying to control himself. "What do you want from me?"

"From you? Nothing. I just heard that you showed some interest in finding some files..."

"What do you know about those files?"

"Everything," the voice answered with a dry laugh. "Everything, Mr. Malfoy, everything."

"Do you have the files?"

"You still don't get it, do you?"

"Get what? How can I get anything when I'm talking in a shit of a phone with some fucking lunatic who didn't hasn't even told me his name?"

"Do you kiss your mother with this mouth?"

"I don't have a mother."

"We both know that's not true."

"Could we please get back to the subject here? My mother has nothing to do with the story."

"And do you even _know_ what the story is?"

"What kind of lunatic are you?"

"The kind that is always right. And I've already said: my name is exactly what you have to find out. Believe me, I was waiting for it to happen. Sooner or later, you would have to show some interest for the right files..."

"For the right files?"

"Yes. I have to say, however: I was ready to give up on you, but finally, seems like the day has come."

"What day?"

"The day when all your worst nightmares come true."

"What do you know about my damned nightmares, you wretched son of a bitch?" Draco was furious. At the other end, the voice answered again with a dry laugh.

"More than you think, Mr. Malfoy... More than you think..."

"You bas..."

"Please, could we keep this conversation at a civilized level?"

"No, we fucking can't! I want to know who you are, and I want to know it now!"

"So, Mr. Malfoy, I must disappoint you. In life, we do not always get what we want. But actually, you must know that already, right? Yes, I'm sure you have full and painful awareness of that..."

"Ah, you..."

"Believe me, you wouldn't want to insult me."

"Ah, yes? And why not? You're at the other end of this shit of a phone! Insulting you is basically the only thing I can do!"

"Yes, I agree, but I might want to strike back and you won't like what I have to say..."

"Why don't you try it?"

"Maybe some other day, Mr. Malfoy. Now I have to go. It was a pleasure." And, without waiting for an answer, the man simply hung up the phone.

Draco remain still for a few moments, astonished, scared with what just happened. When he finally recovered a little, he put the phone back in the base and looked from a distance at the picture of the woman found in the tree. He took the news clipping and read it again. His mind was in a flurry. Who was that woman? What happened to her? And, principally, what did she have to do with Ginny? Whoever the man on the phone was, he knew. Knew and just called Malfoy to provoke him, to play. Draco was helpless to the game, because he didn't know the available rules or the cards. He shouldn't let himself get involved, surrender to the temptation. Looking again at the file on the small table, however, he realized that, in one way or another, he was already involved. There was no way to escape, nowhere to run. He was buried in the story up to his neck and the only thing he could do was to try to solve the mystery. It's simply not possible to avoid the inevitable.

That night, Draco Malfoy laid down on his bed with his head full of doubts. He couldn't sleep. Actually, he couldn't close his eyes. He didn't know what was happening, didn't know what was about to happen. His only certainty was that, the following day, he would take the first port key he could to Scotland. In one

way or another, he wouldn't rest until he found the truth.


	3. Chapter 2: Quo Vadis?

**All Our Yesterdays**

**Translator:** Carol Grissom

**Author:** Flora Fairfield

**Disclaimer:** Characters are not mine, or Flora's

**e-mail:**

**Beta'd by:** potter1958

Chapter 2 - Quo Vadis?

The day was bright. The sun was shining, illuminating the green plains. John Mathews had gone to one of the farms around to visit a pregnant patient. He was a doctor and worked at the hospital of the largest city in the area. That didn't mean much, actually. Harmony Springs was a small place compared to the capital or any big city. Less than ten thousand residents, no big industry. A calm place. John wasn't born there. He was born and raised in England, but he was tired of the violence in the big urban centers. He was tired of treating patients who didn't have a chance in the outside world, so he decided to look for shelter in that small place, blessed by God. He knew most people didn't share his point of view: they thought the place was tedious and they couldn't believe that he could abandon a successful career in London, to come live there, in that small sheeping town, treating unimportant cases, and not much excitement. But he loved it all.

He loved to visit patients at home, loved to bring babies into the world, loved to take care of parents, kids and the entire family. For him, that was true medicine: no cutting to heal, but talking and really knowing people, treat them in every way. He was a happy man. Loved his job, had a small house with a white picket fence and a playground, where someday his kids could play, and a fiancée who was simply wonderful. In every way, he was a happy man.

This day in particular, he was driving along happily. Last night he had proposed to his girlfriend of the last five years. And she had said yes! After that, there was nothing in the world that could ruin his happiness. He could already imagine his children playing in the fields, walking, running, talking. He didn't want to wait too long for children and, with some luck, he could convince Emily. Without intending to, he started to whistle. He was so happy he didn't even realize it.

A few more kilometers down the road he came across a car stopped on the road. It was expensive and new, different from the kind of car that usually showed up around there. Curious, John slowed down, stopping beside the strange car. Outside it, there was a tall blond man, in a dark gray suit. Something in his appearance told John that that wasn't a man you'd normally find in his current condition: hair disheveled, clothes all wrinkled, sweating and kicking the wheel of the automobile while shouting profanities, stopped in the middle of a road. John couldn't help but smile.

"Is something wrong with your car?" he asked helpfully. Here, people still helped each other.

Draco unfolded the map on the seat beside him. It was official now: he was lost. "I should never have left the damn main road!" he said, passing a hand through his hair. It was already three o'clock in the afternoon and he was in the middle of nowhere, lost some place in Scotland. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall on the steering wheel of the car. Nothing was working out today.

It all started that morning. He had intended to call Anne via floo and ask her to check with the muggle police on the whereabouts of the woman's body found in the tree, and prepare authorization with the muggle government so that he could transfer the body. He wanted a wizard pathologist to exam it, looking for any evidence of magic. While Anne prepared all that, he could catch a port key to Edinburgh and get in touch with their Missing Persons Department in person. Their help would be very important in the case. And Anne could send everything she got via owl or floo to him. With Draco's luck, however, nothing went as planned.

As soon as he got up, he took a shower and got dressed. The day Draco Malfoy would talk to his secretary or anybody else wearing his bath robe, or worse: only a towel around his waist, was still to come. That would be absurd; after all, a Malfoy is always composed and ready. As soon as he had gotten ready, and before he could call Anne, however, he was suddenly contacted by one of his investigators in the fireplace.

"Sir," said Jones. He was one of the most experienced investigators Draco had. "We have an emergency."

"What is it?" he asked, in a bad mood. Things like this only happened when he was in a real hurry.

"We have a big case..."

"Well obviously, Jones. What other reason would you have for calling me at a time like this? Could you be more specific?"

"It's Sirius Black's daughter, sir. She's missing."

"What?" Draco almost choked on his own saliva. "Sirius Black's daughter? That's just what I need!"

"Yes, sir."

"When was she last seen?"

"Yesterday, around ten p.m., when her parents put her to bed. An hour ago, her mother went to wake her up, and she wasn't in her bed, or any place else in the house."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm still at the Blacks' house."

"Very well," Draco said, "I'll be there shortly."

"Yes, sir," Jones answered, fading from the fireplace. Without wasting a second, Malfoy took some floo powder and threw it in the fire, calling Anne.

"Good morning," the woman said, still wearing a pink bath robe.

"Anne, we'll have a busy day today. I want you to go to the office immediately. I need you to talk to the muggle police, and try to find out where the body of this woman is," he said, giving her the picture and the newspaper clipping. "I'm also going to need an authorization to transfer the body. I want to bring it to London," he said. Then, changing his mind, "No, no. Forget it. I want it to be examined in Edinburgh, where it is," he completed. He knew that, as soon as the body arrived in London, it would be impossible to keep it a secret.

"All right, sir."

"As soon as you get it, Anne, I want you to send me an owl with everything, including the things I just gave you, okay?"

"Yes. And that's why it will be a busy day?" she asked, confused.

"No. The day will be busy because Sirius Black's daughter is missing. Surely that will turn everything into some kind of circus. Prepare yourself to answer lots of journalists' owls."

"And what should I say?"

"The usual, Anne: that it's too early to make any statements, we're investigating, as soon as we find out what happened, we'll let them know, blah, blah, blah. I'm going to Blacks' now. I will not be going to the office after that. I've got something else to investigate."

"Is it about the body...?"

"Anne, listen very carefully: I don't want you to talk with anyone about what I just asked you to do, understand?" Draco asks, seriously.

"Okay, sure."

"Good. And about where I'm going, you'd better not know so that you won't be tempted to say when someone asks. Just say I'm working."

"But sir..." the other started, hurt.

"Bye, Anne. I don't have time now," Malfoy interrupted her. He had to go to the Blacks' house immediately.

A moment later, he had apparated right to the Black's living room. Jones was there, holding a parchment. Sirius was sitting on the sofa, beside his wife. Draco knew little about her – only that she was a muggle, and that was enough for him. He didn't need to know anything more. The woman was crying. "So predictable," he thought. If there was something he got used to in his work, it was tears. Especially from women.

"Tell me what happened here," Draco said to Jones, when the other approached him.

"Well, there's not much to say. There is no evidences in the house. The fireplace wasn't used to transport anybody, no evidence of struggle. Nothing."

"And what about magic?" the other asked, looking at the sofa. Black was watching him, clearly annoyed.

"The levels aren't above the normal for a magic house. Surely, no powerful spell was done here."

"Ransom note?"

"Nothing."

"No clues?"

"No, none."

"Well, it's time to talk to the parents, isn't it?"

"They've been interrogated. They don't know anything."

"I still haven't questioned them, Jones," Malfoy said flatly, ignoring the other. He was impatient. He wanted to finish this so that he could work on his other case. So, calmly, he walked toward the sofa and sat in front of Black and his wife.

"I want to make it clear," Black started, "that, if the circumstances were different, you would never be allowed to set foot in my house," he said, harshly, looking at the other.

"Believe me, I'm not here because I want to be," Draco said, keeping himself from getting angry. "Really, it's not a very good idea to insult the person who's job it is to find your missing daughter. It's definitely something a dim-witted Gryffindor would do."

"We've already told everything to Jones. We don't see that there is anything else to say."

"Can you think of someone who could've wanted to kidnap her as a personal vendetta against you?"

"Of course I can, but surely, Malfoy, you know the names better than me, don't you? All of them frequented your house."

"The names I know, Black, are in Azkaban."

"Are you sure?" the other asked, with disregard and distrust.

"Yes, I am," Draco answered, without changing his expression. "And what about you?" he asked, reveling inside for his chance to get back at him. "What did you do after putting her to sleep?"

"What do you mean by that? We went to bed too!"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am, you..."

"Sirius, don't..."

"No, Jules! Don't you realize what he is trying to imply?"

"I'm not implying anything. The truth is this, in cases like this, the parents many times are suspects..."

"Ah, you..." Black stood up instantly and would have plowed Draco down if his wife hadn't held him back.

"This is neither the time, nor the place, Sirius!!!" she said. And, turning to Malfoy, "I'm not interested in what's common in these cases! We've never hurt our daughter!"

"" I don't doubt it, Mrs. Black, but I wouldn't be the best at what I do if I didn't ask the tough questions," he answered. Then said, "Excuse me." And walked away from the furious man and the woman, still tearful, satisfied with himself. After all, it wasn't every day that he could piss off Sirius Black. In that moment, Draco almost believed that his morning that had started badly would get better. As he thought, however, it was too soon to assume that.

"The perimeter is protected, sir," Jones told Draco some three hours later. Malfoy was getting very anxious. He should have left by now, but he had no choice. A case like this was too important for him to simply leave. He needed to make sure everything what taken care of first.

"Well," he answered, soberly. He had ordered that a perimeter be created around the house, making sure that anyone performing unauthorized magic inside would be automatically detected. Besides that, any apparation in the area would also be redirected to the living room, where the agents were. "Has Eames got back with the localizer?"

"He's on his way," the other answered. The localizer would be used in case of an owl with a ransom note. It was a kind of amulet and would be placed under the owl's skin, to avoid detection, then, it would allow locating the animal with a simple spell. "And the pictures are already being distributed." It was very important that the girl's face was spread to every possible magic place. The best chance of finding her was if someone recognized her and called them.

"Are the first of the journalists here?" Draco asked already knowing the answer.

"Yes. They're at the edge of the security perimeter."

"Don't let them get in, Jones."

"Of course not. They will stay right where they are."

"It's unbelievable," Malfoy commented, going to the window to look outside. "We only just found out about it, and they're here already! Bunch of vultures!"

"Well, do you intend to say something to them?"

"And say what? That we know shit about it?"

"Say that we're working, that there are investigators looking for her..."

"I'm not going to say anything. At least not until we get a better idea of what happened. And, if I don't talk to them, no one talks, is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Good," Draco said, grim, turning to the window again.

"Sir! Sir!" He heard the excited voice of one of the young investigators. "An owl!" All eyes turned to it, anxious. Black and his wife stood up suddenly, with renewed hope. Malfoy, however, looked at the owl and intruded on the generalized enthusiasm, giving the younger investigator a look of disapproval.

"It's an owl from the department, I was waiting for it," Draco said, moving his hand toward the animal, which was carrying a big buff envelope and a smaller one, white. Black and his wife sat down again, disappointed, and without intending to, Malfoy had some sympathy for them. Good or bad, he knew what it was like: the lack of news could mean something either good or bad, the fear, the hope. He wouldn't even wish that on Sirius Black.

Putting these thoughts aside, Draco forced himself to open the white envelope, containing his secretary's handwriting. It had taken her longer to send the papers than he had expected. The journalists were most likely causing some trouble. The note said that the woman's body had been taken to Edinburgh to be examined by specialists. It also said that in the buff envelope Draco would find the authorizations needed to transfer the body to the magical world police facilities, also the reconstruction of the woman's face and the newspaper clipping. Now that he had everything he needed, he took a look around. He couldn't stay any longer when he knew he had to go to Scotland to solve this woman's mystery. He was about to call Jones and leave him in charged of the situation, when his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice, this time, Black's voice.

"Another owl!" he said anxiously, pointing at an animal at the window. His first impulse was to run and get the letter the owl had brought, which would be extremely reckless. Who knew what kind of spell or potion it might be carrying? Not liking him as he did, Draco felt happy stopping him.

"Calm down, Black! This is our job!" he said, pushing Sirius back. The other still tried to resistance, but Malfoy interrupted him again. "The letter may be charmed, might it not??? Do you want to find your daughter or die during the process?" It apparently made Black calm down a little.

The owl was still perched on the railing, silent and solemn. It was gray and big, a beautiful specimen. Carefully, Jones approached it, using thick protective gloves, made with dragon leather. He freed the envelope from the leg of the animal, while another agent held it, so that it could not fly away. All in the room observed intently.

Jones took the letter out of the house and was followed by two other agents. They would test it for hostile charms and evil potions. Draco had done that a lot in the past, but now he left this risky task to his subordinates. As soon as they left the house, Malfoy turned to the investigator who was with the owl.

"As soon as Eames gets here, I want you to put the localizer on and free it." He then turned back to the door.

"Sir, I don't think that will be possible..."

"What do you mean?" Draco turned back, irritated.

"It's just that, well, the owl is dead," the agent answered, showing the animal.

Draco approached curiously to see for himself. It was true. It had stopped breathing. That's all he needed! Now it would be impossible to use the localizer.

"How..." Black interrupted, approaching.

"Probably a potion," Malfoy answered, seriously. "Whoever sent the letter knew we would try to use the owl to find him."

"My God!" Black said. His tone of voice made it clear what he was thinking: he had finally understood what kind of person it was that had his daughter. And he was panicked. Draco knew the feeling, but it was beyond him to say anything to make the other feel better. It was a job for Potter or some of his other friends. Without saying anything, Malfoy left the room, to go find Jones outside.

"So?" he asked noticing the other was holding the letter without the gloves.

"No spell, no magic, no nothing."

"Let me take a look," Draco asked, extending his hand. The letter was all written with letters and words cut from the Daily Prophet. "This is so cliché," he thought, but it was still efficient, making it difficult to be tracked. "Want to see your child again?" Malfoy read out loud. "Leave thirty thousand galleons, at ten p.m., in the second trash can in Knockturn Alley. Come alone."

"Looks like we have a simple kidnapping case on our hands," Jones commented, but Draco was fascinated by something else.

"The note doesn't mention Black's or his wife's names."

"Maybe the kidnapper didn't find the right letters."

"Maybe," he agreed, but he had the impression that there was something wrong. The note wasn't addressed to a specific person. It was possible that the kidnapper was in a hurry... or maybe he wasn't sure who he would kidnap at the time he made the note. "Jones," Draco said, pulling himself out of the trance he was in. He couldn't waste time speculating. "We have a simple ransom situation. I want you to handle everything: talk to the Blacks, get the money, prepare the location. I also want you to send this note to the department, to see if it can be determined which edition of the Prophet our kidnapper used to make the note..."

"Aren't you staying?"

"No. I've got something important to do, but I'll be back in time for the drop-off of the money, okay? Just prepare everything in my absence."

"Right, sir."

"I'll see you later, Jones," Malfoy concluded, turned and left. He passed through the gate and got clear of the journalists. He was authorized, but didn't apparate inside the perimeter to avoid unnecessary alarms. As soon as he was clear of everyone, however, he took out his wand and apparated right to the port-key point. He had to go to Scotland and didn't want to wait one more second.

That's what Draco should've done from the beginning: leave Jones to take care of everything while he could do what he had to do. But no. He had to be involved in the case, he had to let himself be late. Now, it was too late. When he got in Edinburgh, he had gone immediately to the local magical world police department. He had to talk to them about the body, after all, if he didn't want to bring the body to London, it would have to be examined there and, for that, he needed the local investigator's authorization. It didn't take him long to get it, though. An hour later, he was headed for the morgue, escorted by two agents, to get the woman's body. They were going as muggle investigators, driving a van appropriated to transfer the body. Draco hated this. Every minute he spent in the vehicle, he was cursing himself mentally. At what point he had gone? But he had no other choice. Not if he really wanted to solve this mystery.

In the morgue, he identified himself – using the credentials the muggle government had given him. There were few people in the muggle government who knew about the wizards. It was necessary, since, eventually, both the ministries needed to cooperate. But the wizarding government was careful, selecting people who wouldn't have much credibility if in the future they wanted to denounce the wizarding world; or people who had wizards in their family. None of the precautions were considered extreme.

"Look, I'm really not surprised that you're taking this case from us," the coroner who examined the woman said, while getting the folder containing his report and gave it to Draco. They were both in the office, because Draco wanted to see the report and talk to the doctor before seeing the body.

"Why?" he asked, opening the files. "Did you find something unusual?"

"Unusual? I don't know if that is the right word to describe it. I've been doing this job for twenty years, and the murder of this woman was surely one of the most cruel I've ever seen"

"How did she die?"

"Probably from hemorrhaging."

"Probably?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I found many signs of wounds on her. The body was extremely well preserved due to all the sand, so, despite the woman being dead for over ten years, I was able to do a detailed exam..."

"What kind of wounds?" Draco interrupted.

"The kind that suggests that she was badly beaten before dying. I found a dislocated shoulder; a broken bone in the arm, a typical fracture of self-defense and cuts on the arms and hands indicating self-defense, and two broken ribs."

"She was beaten."

"Yes. The X-rays and photos are in the report."

"What else?"

"The toxicology exam revealed traces of some unknown substances. I think she must have been drugged."

Draco looked over the report, lingering a bit on a picture of her. In red, on the woman's forehead, was drawn an equilateral triangle, just as stated in the newspaper report.

"Is this triangle drawn with blood?" he asked.

"No. It's some kind of permanent pigment, but we couldn't identify it. It's an unknown ink."

"Any special meaning to the shape?"

"That's for you to say, isn't it? I just exam the body."

"You said she died of hemorrhaging, but I don't see any big cut..."

"But it wasn't a big cut. It was a small and precise one, in the femoral artery. She also has a straight cut in the joining of the arm and forearm, but this is secondary and was starting to heal when she died. In my opinion she was put inside the tree, God knows how, still alive and there she bleed to death."

"My God."

"Well, it gets worse."

"Worse?"

"I found evidence of sexual assault."

"What had been done to this woman?!" Draco sort of said, sort of asked, a little panicky. Suddenly, he didn't want to believe that this case had any relation with Ginny's. It couldn't be true. "I swear I'll kill that stupid Creevey," he said mentally. He would have given anything, at that moment, to stop all the thoughts that now invaded his head.

"Well, this is also for you to figure out, isn't it? I said it was a cruel murder."

"Yes, you said. Let's finish with this at once. Where's the body?" Draco asked, trying to keep himself in control. He needed to concentrate on the task ahead.

"It's downstairs, in the fridge. Just follow me..."

Both of them left the office and met the local investigators, who'd been waiting outside. Then, they caught the elevator and went down one floor. The "fridge" was in the basement. Leaving the elevator, the four men turned to the right and went through a short corridor that ended in a big metal door. The coroner opened it and let them in. Then, he took a small clip board beside the door and looked up which drawer the woman's body was in. He proceeded a few steps ahead and extended his hand to one of the knobs. Draco swallowed dryly. Silence reigned. It was as if everything happened in slow motion. It was terrifying to imagine that the destiny of this woman could be the same as... no, he shook his head. There was no evidence that it was true, he told himself. He couldn't be hasty in his conclusions.

When the coroner opened the drawer, however, and pulled out what was supposed to be the body, the four men couldn't avoid a gasp of surprise.

"My God! But how..."

"Are you sure she should be here?" Draco asked, furiously.

"Yes, sure..."

"Absolutely sure?"

"Yes, absolutely sure!" the coroner said angrily, but it didn't change the fact that, at that moment, all four of them faced, astoundly, the emptiness. The body had disappeared.

They searched the entire morgue, but didn't find anything. Absolutely nothing. Draco left the other two there, while the muggles examined the tapes from the security cameras, but he doubted that they would find anything: the body had simply disappeared and there was only one way for that to happen: using magic. No muggle device could help him in this case.

Frustrated and furious – in a way that was hard to describe – Draco asked the coroner to tell him where exactly the body was found. If he couldn't exam the body, he could at least take a look at the place. The doctor gave him a map and indicated the way. It was far, so, Malfoy used a port-key to the closest city and, there, he passed into the muggle world and rented a car. He hated to drive. Riding in one of those vehicles was bad enough, but driving one was simply the worst. With no other options, though, it was exactly what he did. And, at that moment, hitting his head on the steering-wheel, because he was lost somewhere in Scotland, Draco deeply cursed his decision. Nothing was going.

Without knowing what to do or where to go, he got out of the car, furious. He needed to discount that anger somehow. He looked at the car and wished he could destroy it. Why do muggles use such stupid transportation? When you pick a port-key, or use floo powder, or apparate, you reach exactly where you want to go – as long as you've had some practice in the last two choices. You don't get lost, don't need maps, don't need to worry about getting completely lost on a road at the end of the world!

"Stupid car!" he yelled, kicking the wheel. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" he repeated continuing to kick the wheel. "You're a very stupid car, you wretched, son of a bitch, product of a worthless muggle, you're good for nothing, you..."

"You havin' a problem with your car?" He heard a strange voice asking. He had been so engrossed in his own rage that he hadn't seen anybody approaching.

"No," he answered as coldly as he could, staring at the man facing him from inside a pickup-truck. The man was looking at him with half a smile on his face and easy-going eyes. Draco could sense what that was: happiness. He was a happy man and Draco hated happy people, with their smiles at the wrong time, their needless singing and their looks full of sympathy. Suddenly, he felt an uncontrollable urge to kick the man exactly like he was doing to the car.

"What happened, then?" he asked, surprised.

"It's none of your business," Draco answered through his teeth. The day that he would ask for help from that man would never come.

"But maybe I can help..."

"What's wrong with you? I just said it's none of your business! How rude do I need to be to get you to leave me alone?"

"I'm used to dealing with rude people. It happens a lot in my profession."

"I'm lost, okay?" Draco answered, finally, just to make him go away. "Satisfied now?"

"Oh, you're lost and it's the car's fault?" the man asked, with a fun air. Malfoy gave him such a deadly look, that he didn't dare make anymore jokes. "Where are you going?"

Draco closed his eyes and sighed tiredly. That was his only way out.

"I'm looking for Erick McDermontt's farm in..."

"Oh, but you're on the wrong road!"

"Really Sherlock?" Malfoy responded, using an expression he had learned from Ginny. "I hadn't realized that."

"This is the road to Harmony Springs," the man said, ignoring the last comment. "You have to go back to the main road and drive about 150 km. The farm is just off the road. There's a sign."

"Great," Draco said without wasting any more time. He got in the car, started it and turned around to go back the way he'd come, while the man was still staring at him, bewildered. He was probably waiting for a 'Thank You'. "Never, over my dead body," Draco thought, while accelerating. He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

Draco parked beside the house. The place was desert. It was passed five p.m., but since it was summer, the sun was still shining in the sky. He felt a chill as he got out of the car and took a look around. All the windows of the house were closed. No light or movement could be seen inside. Suddenly, Draco heard the moaning of sheep. If there were sheep, then there must be someone taking care of them. Draco made a mental note to remember to find out who that might be. It was hard to imagine that anyone would want to come to this farm of their own free will. The atmosphere seemed filled with suffering and mystery. Despite the day still being bright, the place seemed gloomy, almost macabre. "It was to be expected," he thought. "This field housed the body of a woman for over ten years." Over ten years. It would be impossible for it not to be full of negative energies.

On the top of a small hill was the cracked tree. It was blackish and dead, but left no doubt that once it had been an oak, solid as a rock. And it was there that Draco needed to go. The silence was heavy in the air. Forcing his own legs – which threatened to rebel – to move, Malfoy passed through the fence that surrounded part of the field, and started to walk toward the tree. The grass on the ground was trampled down, indicating that a large number of careless people had passed through that way, with boots and other heavy shoes. Close to the tree, fallen to the ground, Draco saw one of the yellow markers used by the muggle experts to mark a crime scene. It was covered a little by the mud, indicating that it had been kicked from its original place, or maybe blown by the wind and forgotten. Probably it had rained after the body was found.

Climbing the soft incline, Malfoy soon found himself in front of the tree. There was magic there, he could feel it. He could feel it in his bones, in his flesh, in his soul. There was powerful magic there, enough to make the hair on Draco's neck stand on end and to give him a second chill, this time much more intense, running up his back. It was in the air, in the tree, and in the ground, it was everywhere.

There was still some sand on the ground. The muggles probably took the rest to be analyzed and search for evidence. Draco took a sample of the grey grains in a small plastic bag. Maybe it would be possible to identify exactly what the substance was and find out if it was a product of some ritual or potion, or simply from a transfiguration spell. Whoever killed that woman, surely didn't drive a truckload of sand all the way out there. Especially if this person was a wizard, which he strongly suspected. Placing the sample in the inner pocket of his suit, Draco moved closer to the tree. The lightning had hit it right in the middle, practically breaking it in two. There was no life left there.

Raising his eyes, Malfoy saw the sun light reflecting off of something above him inside the hollow trunk. Stretching out his hand to touch the object that was reflecting: he found that it was glass. A piece of glass inlaid in the wood. Of course! Draco mentally cursed himself for not realizing it before: surely the high temperature produced by the lightning was responsible for turning the sand – the part in direct contact with the impact – into glass. Pulling out a small pocketknife, he managed to remove the piece of glass from the trunk. He held it between his fingers for a moment, thinking. Then, he put it in his pants' pocket.

Finally, he walked around the oak, intently looking for something, anything in the burnt wood, evidence or markings, anything, but there was clearly nothing except for the damage caused by the lightning. He couldn't avoid feeling a little frustrated with that. He had been expecting to find something more. The type of person that would do something like this, can't hardly resist the temptation to leave their 'Mark'. With a tired sigh, Draco backed away from the tree and looked around. The feeling that there was magic there hadn't abandoned him. He wished he had found someone in the house, preferably the muggle who had found the body, so that he could ask him some questions. He really needed to find out where he was and the best way to do that, Malfoy concluded, was to go into town and ask. People there surely would know something. Turning away from the tree, Draco started back toward the car. He couldn't say that the trip had been very productive, but at least now there was no doubt in his mind that it was the work of a wizard. And a very powerful wizard.

When Draco reached the car, however, he couldn't help a surprised gasp. Waiting for him, standing on the hood, was an owl. He recognized the owl as being from the department, even without seeing it arrive. He had been so absorbed by the investigation of the oak. Curious, Malfoy approached the animal and took the letter it was carrying. The hasty calligraphy was Jones's.

"Oh shit!" Draco roared after reading it. This was just what he needed to make his day complete. With a pencil, he scribbled an answer: "I'm on my way" on the back of the note and put it back on the owl's leg, who flew off immediately. Malfoy wasn't going to town now. He couldn't go to town now. His choice had instantly been made for him.

In a hurry, he got in the car and started it. He needed to get back to London. As fast as possible.


	4. Chapter 3: Madness

**All Our Yesterdays**

**Translator:** Carol Grissom

**Author:** Flora Fairfield

**Disclaimer:** Characters are not mine, or Flora's

**e-mail:**

**Beta'd by:** potter1958

Chapter 3 – Madness

"What does it mean?" These were the first words that came out of Draco's mouth as soon as he got inside of Sirius Black's house and found aurors trying to tell his agents what to do.

"We are assuming control of this case," said Ronald Weasley with petulance. While Potter had preferred to become a professional Quidditch player, Weasley and Granger had decided to continue in the career of 'defenders of the world against the dark arts' and had become aurors. They worked together, and it was agreed, but not by Draco of course, that they formed a great team.

"The hell you're assuming this case! There's no evidence of dark arts. The jurisdiction is mine and you have no authority here!"

"If you wanted this case so much, Malfoy, then why have you been gone most of the day? We..."

"I was working, Granger, which is a lot more than can be said for you, who has free time enough to steel other people's cases..."

"You listen, Malfoy..."

"You listen, Weasley! You don't have the ability nor the experience to handle a situation involving kidnapping. Investigator Jones, who I left in charge of everything, has more capacity to solve this case than you two put together!"

"And by the way, was it all this ability that you used to go after my sister? I'm not surprised that she was never found!"

"Ron!" came Harry Potter's voice, in a reproofing tone. He and Black had arrived in the room just in time to hear the last statement, and were stunned. Even Granger stared at her husband, horrified. That was too cruel.

"You can stay, Weasley," Malfoy said in a death voice. "But just because this is Sirius Black's house and I doubt that he would kick you out of here. Stay, as a family friend, but try giving another order to my agents and I myself will kick your ass out." And with that, he left the room, ignoring all the eyes that were watching him.

Draco was distraught. The only reason he left was that, if he had stood there one more second, he would end up strangling Weasley – which wouldn't be a politically intelligent decision – or lose control and start to cry – which would be even worse. With his hands in his pockets, he leaned his back against the side wall of the house and closed his eyes, trying to pretend he didn't know about the huge emptiness in his chest, trying not to feel his heart beating rapidly. At times like this, he really wished he didn't have a heart, like people were used to thinking. Everything would be easier if he could just forget... but he couldn't. That was all his fault.

Tired, Draco took his hands out of his pockets and took the pack of cigarettes from inside his cloak. He always had one with him, but he rarely did what he was doing: opening it and pulling out a cigarette. Then, with his wand, he conjured a small flame and lit it. He put the pack back in his cloak and took a long drag. It was impossible to do it and not remember Ginny. If she were there, now, she would surely be red with anger. Or she would smell the scent of smoke on his clothes and be angry when he got home. He loved to see her angry. She made him promise a dozen times that he wouldn't smoke anymore. Dozen of times, but Draco always came back to smoking. He always broke his promises.

Closing his eyes, he took another drag and let his head fall back. It was already night and there was a soft breeze in the air. The sky was clear. Exactly like the night he last saw her...

"Malfoy." Granger's voice intruded on his musing.

"What do you want?" he asked in a tired voice.

"Malfoy, what Ron said..."

"Is the purest truth, isn't it?"

"No, it's not and you know that. We all know."

"Oh, please, spare me. I don't need this now."

"This what?"

"Your compassion. Your pity."

"Malfoy, this is not about pity..."

"Ah, no! Of course not! What is it, then, Granger? I don't like you and you don't like me, so why don't we simply stop pretending? I don't need your pity! I don't want your pity!" he said with disgust.

"Mal..." Mione still tried, but she was once more interrupted.

"Do you think I don't know what you all think? 'Poor Malfoy, who is still looking for his wife as if she were alive, who refuses to see what's so obvious!...'"

"Nobody thinks like that. Only an insane person would use the words 'poor' and 'Malfoy' in the same sentence."

Draco responded with a dry laugh.

"Ah, but I am poor! In all meanings," he completed, throwing the cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.

"We all miss her... You staying here feeling pity for yourself won't help!"

"Ah, you all miss her?!" The other interrupted with an ironic smile. "By any chance, do any of you wake up in the middle of the night hoping to see her there? Do you miss her out of tune voice singing in the shower? Or the smell of adust food coming from the kitchen because she doesn't know how to cook?" he started, approaching. "Do you miss her kisses in the morning? The way she could make everything all right? Are you forced to go to sleep and wake up with a huge emptiness in your chest, with the unsettling knowledge that, no matter what you do, she's not there and will never be?" At this point he was facing Granger from a distance of around four inches. She lowered her head and deflected the look when he finished. "That's what I thought." And after a pause, "Go away, Granger. You're not my 'friend'. I don't need your pity, or your help, or comforting," he completed, turning his back and departing again. Hermione said nothing. Just went back inside the house. Draco waited a few minutes until he had calmed down and then followed her. However much he wanted to stay, however much he wanted to disappear from this world, he had a job to do.

It was ten p.m.. Knockturn Alley was dark. There were no lights on, no lamp-posts, nothing. The silence was absolute. The old and dusty shops were closed, and their obscure merchandise showing in the shop windows, gave an even more sinister atmosphere to the place. There were no people in the streets. The place was apparently desert. In some buildings, however, strategically located, were the agents of the Department of Missing Persons. They were on alert, ready for anything. You never know for sure what may happen during the delivery of a ransom payment. Things might go fine, or they might not.

During the day, they had examined the trash can where the money was to be delivered, and after that, they sealed it off and kept a constant watch on it. Nobody had come to tamper with it. They could only assume, then, that the kidnapper would come after the delivery, to collect the money. Thus, they were prepared to lie in wait the entire night. They would not leave until they had arrested at least one of the criminals.

Promptly at ten o'clock, Malfoy saw Black arriving. Obviously, they would have preferred to use an agent in his place, but Black insisted on delivering it in person. He came walking slowly, his steps echoing in the curb, discretely looking around. He didn't see anything. There was nothing to be seen. When he got close to the trash can, he put the bag he was carrying containing the money, inside it, and then with his hands in his pockets, he took another look around. He was the only person on the street. No soul, no sound, no other breathing. A little frustrated, he silently went back the way he had come. Draco released his breath when he saw the man disappear around the corner. He feared that Black, at the last minute, would decide to play the hero, but he behaved extremely well. Now, with all eyes stuck on the trash can, Draco and the others waited.

The tense minutes had stretched into hours. Hours of tension. Draco didn't feel sleepy. He was determined, but felt tired. Every minute that passed made him more angry and caused more doubts. Why didn't the kidnapper show up? Where would the girl be? The smallest movement in the street was enough to make all of the agents jump, but every time it happened they soon realized it was a false alarm. Dawn approached, all were exhausted, and still no one appeared to collect the money.

"Maybe he's waiting till the shops open. He might try to hide among the crowd," Draco muttered more to himself then to anybody else, but Jones, who was beside him, commented.

"Still, it's weird. People would notice someone digging in a trash can in daylight."

"Not if he's the garbage collector," Malfoy responded without moving his eyes from the target.

"Do you think..."

"I don't know, Jones. It was just an idea..." the other answered, suddenly distracted by an owl in low flight, moving toward them.

It was all black, and when it got close enough, Draco could see a large red band tied to its leg. That was the sign indicating an urgent owl. His heartbeat accelerated, imagining what could be important enough to be sent to him in the middle of a stake-out. Without error, the owl flew directly to the window near to where he was. That couldn't be good.

Quickly, Malfoy untied the letter it was carrying and torn open the envelope. As soon as he read the first few words, he froze. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. With a questioning look toward his agents, he left the room running, leaving everybody in a state of panick. He went downstairs and opened the street door. He knew exactly what he had to find out.

He walked with determination towards the trash can, still holding the letter in his hand. It couldn't be true. At the last moment, he hesitated. And if it was a trap? No, he rejected the idea. Nobody would try so hard to get him. There were easier ways to do it. Finally, he bent over the trash can. It was empty.

"How can this be possible?" Draco yelled at his agents. They were all gathered in the department, and this time, they wouldn't be getting out of a very serious reprimanding. "Huh? Could somebody here answer me? What you did today was a stupid demonstration of incompetence! We were all just sitting there, watching on the ransom money when actually, the money was already gone??? You should've examined the trash can! You should've been sure that this wouldn't happen, but did you? No! And while we were there, losing precious time, the kidnapper could be killing the girl if it was his plan! Where were your heads???" Draco was furious. When he saw the money was gone, he almost freaked out. A demonstration of incompetence like this in the case of the kidnapping of Sirius Black's daughter really wasn't what Draco needed at the moment. The girl, luckily, was okay. She was left three blocks from her house and came home walking. She didn't remember anything. A very powerful memory charm was used, and trying to remove it could cause even more damage. In Draco's opinion, it really would be better if she didn't remember anything, even if it made the work of catching the kidnapper more difficult. What was unforgivable, however, was the incompetence his people had shown. If anything serious had happened to the girl, they would now be in a great deal of trouble. "You acted as if none of you have ever done this before! Like a bunch of beginners who, apart from being inexperienced, are stupid!" He hit the table strongly. Nobody dared to answer. Actually, they all were still shocked with what had happened. The money couldn't have just walked away by itself. Surely, someone missed something in the examination of the trash can, some spell, probably a port-key. And it was a beginner's error, indeed. Malfoy was right in being angry.

The reprimanding lasted another half an hour. Draco hardly spared words when calling people's attention. When he finished, he went to his office without talking to anyone. The only time he was disturbed was when his secretary came in to deliver the mail. He took the envelopes still annoyed and glanced at the return addresses. He threw almost all of them in the drawer of letters that would never be read, and opened only one, which had no sender, but he knew it was from Creevey. After such a day, he would surely ask for some exclusive statement. Reading the letter, Draco soon confirmed his suspicions. Creevey still wanted news about the woman of the tree. Malfoy scribbled on a piece of paper 'Nothing you can publish and I'm still investigating' and tied the letter to the leg of his personal owl, dispatching it.

It was late afternoon. He passed the entire day so occupied with the kidnapping case and then in his office that he hadn't noticed the time pass. Most of the investigators had already left. Only the ones on duty remained. Draco stood up and started putting on his suit coat and cloak, ready to go home, when he heard someone knock on the door. He turned, extremely annoyed.

"Come in," he said with a voice that meant the opposite.

"Sir." He heard Eames' voice, after opening the door.

"Do you want to talk to me?" he asked, still rude.

"Yes."

"Come in, then. Don't stand by the door like an idiot. "Eames obeyed. Whatever he wanted, now there was no going back. "What happened?"

"It's about the trash can incident..."

"Haven't I said enough about it today?"

"Sir, it was me who examined the trash can before it was sealed off. There was nothing wrong with it, I assure you. It was absolutely clean and no one from the outside moved it. Only people from the department."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing," the other answered quickly. "I'm not accusing anybody. I'm just saying that, when I saw the trash can, it was clean, I assure you."

Draco considered the man's words. Eames wasn't an old agent, but he wasn't just a beginner. He was competent and serious. Always extremely serious, which made people trust him instinctively. Malfoy couldn't detect any lies, and still, it was hard to believe his words. If it was true, then they had a traitor among them, right under their noses.

"All right, Eames. I understand what you're saying. Thank you," Draco responded sending him away with the move of his head. He obeyed again, happy to have it over with so easily, without upsetting his superior again. Malfoy soon followed him, leaving the office and apparating home. He was feeling odd about what Eames had said, and whatever he tried to do, he couldn't shake the feeling there was something going on, and that something was very wrong. The conversation with Eames was the last straw. From now on, Draco decided, he could trust no one. Absolutely no one.

Arriving home, Draco took off his cloak, suit coat and tie and threw them on the bed, together with the buff envelope he was carrying – the same one Anne had sent him. Then, rolling up his shirt sleeves, he went to the kitchen. Tonight he wouldn't order take-out. It was becoming an annoying habit. So, he opened the fridge, looking for something quick and easy to prepare. His culinary abilities were quite limited. He finally realized something very distressing: he needed to go shopping urgently. He found practically no food. Finally, he opened the upper compartment of the fridge, "dug" out an old frozen dish. It was still good for eating, so he took his wand and did a spell to warm it. It would probably taste awful, but who cared? It was better than nothing.

He came back to the living room with the plate and a fork and sat down on the sofa just like the other night, placing one of his feet on the coffee table. It had been some time since he had had a decent meal, sitting at the dinner table. It would be useless anyway, and would only remind him of his own loneliness. He finished eating quickly – better, he finished swallowing the food, because he could barely feel its taste – and took the dishes to the kitchen. He could wash them in the morning.

Then, in the living room, he opened the envelope again and took out the documents inside it. The coroner had given him a copy of the autopsy report and Draco started to read it more carefully. With every detail, that crime was becoming more and more mysterious. That day, he had left the sand sample to be examined by the wizards from the laboratory, but he would have to wait two or three days for the report, and the waiting was terrible. Malfoy hated to wait. If he at least knew who the woman was! A simple name would make things a lot easier, but no. He was still left in the dark.

He was examining it again, focusing in on the photos of the injuries of the body when the silence was broken by the sudden ring of the phone. He knew it. Somehow, Draco knew when he heard the first ring who would be on the other end. He tried to resist the temptation to stand up and answer it, but he couldn't. In the end, he knew that the man had the answers to all his questions, and the need to solve the mystery was too great.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy," the voice said without waiting for him to say hello. "So, we meet again, huh?"

"You called my house. Who the hell else did you expected to answer?"

"I see your patience is a little bit less than usual today."

"For you, my patience will always be non-existent."

The voice laughed.

"How do you expect to find out what happened without exercising this important virtue?"

"Can we get to the subject? What do you want?"

"You continue to insist on asking me that. I've already told you: the question is not what I want, but what you want."

"You don't know what I want."

"You want to find her, isn't it?" Draco trembled. "You want to bring back the love of your life and make her happy forever. Am I close to the truth, Mr. Malfoy?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"On the contrary. I know exactly what I'm saying. The problem is: is it possible to bring her back? Is she still alive, and if she is, will she want to come back to you?" Draco closed his eyes, trying to control himself. This man had an amazing ability of touching the worst wounds.

"I keep telling you," he finally said, trying to sound unemotional, "You don't know what you're talking about." He needed the other to think that this wasn't affecting him.

"Yes, I know. Wound you like to hear another little thing I know? I know you went to Scotland today."

"You bas..." Draco started, but the understanding finally reached him. "It was you! You stole the body, you son of a bi..."

"Oh, please," the other interrupted before the phrase was finished. "Don't offend my mother when yours isn't much better, right?"

"I've already said I don't have a mother!"

"And I've already said you do! And you should pay more attention to her, let's say, but I don't expect you to take my advices right now. Maybe in the future, but not now."

This time it was Draco who laughed.

"I will never take any of your advice! Never, you shit! You're playing with me. Do you think I don't know? You know nothing about what happened to Ginny! You're just using it to try to get to me. And you know what? It's not fucking working! If you expect me to believe in half a word that comes from your mouth, think again! I wasn't born yesterday and I will never believe you!"

"That's too bad. Really, I thought we could start a mutually beneficial relationship here."

"Mutually beneficial?! Mutually beneficial when you steal the body, hide evidence and lie?!"

"I just do what I have to do. Don't we all?"

"You enjoy it."

"And don't you? The Slytherin you were once, started in the Dark Arts, future Death Eater, follower of the only real Lord, still have fun with it, don't you? Still look down and laugh at all the mere mortals with their noble values and vain sacrifices and dignifying truths. You know more than that. You know better than that. Or had this girl dominated you so much that you forgot your origins?"

"How could I forget, when my past pursues me every instant?" Draco answered in a ferric tone. "You don't know me, so don't say what you don't know."

"What are you saying? That if You-Know-Who hadn't been defeated, you would have turned against him and against your own father? I can't believe it."

"You can believe, or not believe, whatever you want. I couldn't care less."

"You really don't believe it, do you?"

"Don't believe what?" Draco asked impatiently.

"That I know what happened to your wife."

Draco took a while to answer. Finally, his voice was firm.

"No, I don't believe it. You're bluffing."

"Well, you might be right," the man answered as if having fun with the situation. "But you might be wrong. Are you willing to take that risk?" he asked, finally, hanging up the phone immediately. Malfoy had his mouth opened, ready to answer, but he didn't even know what words he would say. Would he take the risk? This was a dangerous game, but there really wasn't any choice of not playing? Deep inside, he knew there wasn't. He knew he couldn't ignore those calls, ignore all the evidence. He was an easy prey, he knew, but he couldn't avoid it. He needed to find out. Needed to find her. Even if it was only to find a bunch of bones in place of what was once a beautiful woman. He needed to see her one last time. Even if it was to say his final good bye.

The next morning, Malfoy didn't waste time. Before any unpleasant surprises could stop him, he got dressed, had breakfast, scrabbled a note to Anne saying he probably wouldn't be in the office till late afternoon, and left. He had a clear idea of what he had to do, and to start, he went to the port-keys point. He had to go to Edinburgh again and apparating would be dangerous due to the long distance.

Arriving there, he first went to the local police to see if they had any news about the missing body. As expected, the security tapes didn't help. The body simply disappeared. Obviously there was magic involved, but till they find the one responsible, there wasn't much left to do. After hearing the unpleasant - but not exactly unexpected - news, Malfoy took another port-key and rented a car to finally do what he had planned yesterday: visit the small town close to Erick McDermontt's farm. He really wanted to talk to the man who had found the body.

The place was about thirty two miles from the farm, and this time he had no difficulties in getting there. It really was a small town, with a small hospital, police station, school, and a few shops – most of them related to sheep breeding – a small inn and two or three restaurants. Most of the people were driving pickup trucks, more indicated to the countryside life, so Draco was quickly noticed arriving in a black convertible, with his impeccable navy suit, stripped tie and sun glasses. He parked close to the police station and got out carrying a folder with a copy of the coroner's report. Everything about him seemed to yell "I work for the government" and, in a way, he liked the respect that it brought him. He was, after all, a Malfoy, even if – to his great disappointment – under covered as a muggle.

He got out of the car, putting the glasses in his pocket. The day was bright, the sun was shining. A day made for kids to enjoy. Draco saw some of them playing in the square, but he entered the building without wasting a moment. The painful memories seemed to follow him wherever he went.

Inside, everything was silent. He saw someone in a uniform calmly reading the newspaper on the counter. There was a door leading to another room – the door had a square window which allowed you to see the interior of it – where another man, also in a uniform, was sitting at a desk, writing something. No one else could be seen. Draco really wished that they had so little work to do in his Department.

When he approached the counter, the officer who was reading the newspaper raised his eyes to face him and didn't seemed surprised to see him.

"Oh, you're here because of the woman in the tree, right?"

"How did you know?"

"We don't have too many interesting cases to investigate. Are you a journalist? No, because if you were..."

"I'm not a journalist," Draco interrupted him. "I work for the government," he completed, showing his badge. This time, the official seemed surprised.

"Well, then this thing must be serious."

"Could I talk to the detective in charge of the case, please?" The other laughed at the question.

"We don't have many detectives. But you can talk to the sheriff. He is the 'detective in charge' of the cases around here," the official answered in a funny tone while leaving the counter and knocking on the door of the room. "Sir," he said when the other opened the door, "This man works for the government..."

"My name is Draco Malfoy," Draco interrupted extending his hand, "And I'm investigating the case of the woman found inside the tree at the Erick McDermontt's farm."

"Yes, sure. There wouldn't be any other case that would be worth coming all the way out here to investigate. Please, come in," he completed allowing Malfoy to enter the room.

"I've already talked to the coroner in Edinburgh," Draco said without wasting time, as soon as he sat down behind the desk. "And he gave me a copy of the autopsy report, but now I need some more information."

"Have you been to the place? I can take you there..."

"No, I visited the farm yesterday. It won't be necessary to go there again. At least not for now. But I have a few questions," he completed, getting a pencil to write on his notepad.

"Go ahead."

"Were you the one responsible for the case?"

"Yes. I mean, two investigators from Edinburgh came, and it was them who took the body to be examined, and the other evidence... We don't have the facilities here to do the tests here, but I was the first official at the crime scene. Really, I've never seen anything like it before. I'm not surprised that old Erick was so disturbed..."

"Disturbed?"

"Yes, didn't you know?"

"Obviously, not."

"Well, ever since he found the body, he hasn't been the same. He's been placed in a sanatorium."

"He's gone crazy?" Draco asked, surprised.

"I'm sure the doctors have an elaborated technical term to describe it, but in the end, I think 'gone crazy' is probably the best way to describe it. He speaks non-sense stuff."

"At any time, was he considered to be a suspect in the case?"

"Well, he has always been considered a little weird around here... Especially after that tree grew overnight right in the middle of his property, but a murderer? No, I don't think Erick would be capable... To be honest, I still have difficulty believing that such a horrible thing could be done by any man's hand..."

"What do you mean?"

"Seems like the work of the devil... you know," the other continued uncomfortable with Malfoy's deep look. "Witchcraft... Really bad people stuff..." Draco had to control himself to not say something. It was just too hard listening to a damned muggle talking like that about something he was simply too ignorant to understand.

"You didn't have any missing persons cases during the period that the tree appeared, did you?" he asked controlling his expression, preferring to ignore the last comment.

"No, we didn't. We couldn't identify the woman. Nobody knows her, or rather, knew her."

"I couldn't avoid noticing that although the farm is empty, it's still being cared for by someone."

"Yes. It's the boy Thomas. He used to work for Erick before everything happened and now he's still the only person who has the guts to go there. He has kept everything in order."

"A boy?"

"Well, now he must be around fifteen, sixteen. It's just a habit of calling him boy."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"He must be at home, with his mother. Why?"

"I'd like to talk to him. Could we make a small visit?"

"Yes, of course. Let's go," the sheriff said, standing up and getting his hat off the rack. Draco followed him.

The house of 'small Thomas' wasn't far. To be honest, Draco thought no houses were far from the police station. Just around twenty minutes walking and you could probably cross the city. Along the way, he couldn't avoid noticing all the people who stared at him, surprised or curious. Surely, he would be a subject of conversations for a few days. He also couldn't avoid noticing that the sheriff seemed to know everybody who passed by them by the name. Undoubtedly, he was a good source of information about these people's lives.

They stopped in front of a wooden door, of a white house. It was small, but the garden was very well cared for. The sheriff rang the bell and soon a woman came to the door. She was wearing a kitchen apron – she was probably making lunch – and had light hair and a pleasant face. She wasn't an old woman. Probably around thirty. Surely, less than forty.

"Good morning, Mrs. McNeil."

"Good morning, sheriff," the woman answered with a questioning look. "What can I do for you?"

"This is Draco Malfoy," the other answered, "And he works for the government. He's investigating that tree case."

"Yes, sure."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, we'd like to talk to Tom."

"No, of course not. Please, come in," she answered, letting them in. Draco mentally thanked the sheriff for all the kindness the situation required. If there was one thing he hated to do was to waste time pretending he was polite when, inside, he could barely wait to get what he wanted. "You can wait in the living room," she said, pointing at a door. "I'll call Thomas."

Both went in and sat down on the sofa, waiting. It didn't take too long, however, and the boy showed up at the door. He looked very much like his mother, he also had light hair. He looked tall and strong for fifteen, but his expression was that of a boy.

"Hello, sheriff," he said as soon as he came in, and turned to Draco.

"Draco Malfoy," said Draco, extending his hand and indicating for Thomas to sit down.

"Thomas McNeil," he answered, shaking the extending hand. "My mother said you wanted to talk to me about the case involving Mr. McDermontt's farm."

"Yes, Thomas," Draco answered. "I'm investigating the murder and the sheriff told me you used to work for the farm's owner."

"Yes, since I was twelve."

"Have you ever notice anything strange there?"

"Well, I don't know... Certainly, the tree thing was weird, and well, once in a while we felt weird things, but besides that..."

"Felt weird things?"

"Yes." The boy seemed uncomfortable. "Like shivers or chills or the feeling that there was someone watching us, things like that. Most people thought the farm was haunted."

"And still, you wanted to work there?"

"Well, I liked Mr. McDermontt. He told good stories and he was patient. He wasn't a bad man. You don't think he killed that woman, do you?" Thomas seemed horrified by the idea.

"No, I don't think that. I would just like to see if there was any kind of pattern in the things that happened at the farm."

"Pattern? No, I don't think so...I used to think it was just fertile imagination, but now..."

"You're not so sure?"

"No, I'm not."

"Did you go to visit Mr. McDermontt in the sanatorium?"

"No. I wanted to go, but my mother didn't let me. She said I was too young to go to a place like that."

"Very well then," Draco concluded. "I think that's all I have to ask for now. Anything else, I'll come back."

"Sure. Whenever I can help," the boy said. He really seemed honest.

The sheriff and Malfoy said good bye, and left the house.

"Are you coming back to the police station?" the other asked.

"No. Actually, I need to talk to Erick McDermontt."

"Are you sure? I don't think he'll be of great help."

"I won't know if I don't try, will I?" Draco said a little impatiently. He still hadn't forgotten the comment about witchcraft.

"Well, in this case I can tell you how to get there. It's not so far. About a hundred miles."

"Great," Draco responded while going back to the car. He was determined to get all the information he could there. He didn't want to come back to the 'end of the world'.

The sanatorium was really big. An old building, bigger than he expected. It used to be a treatment center for tuberculosis, but now it worked as a psychiatric hospital. Draco soon noticed it was managed by catholic nuns. There was one at the reception desk. He identified himself and the woman didn't seem surprised. Surely, they were aware of the circumstances that had brought Erick McDermontt there.

He waited a short time in the waiting room, until a doctor came to see him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy," she said as she approached. "I'm Doctor Jenkins."

"You are responsible for Erick McDermontt?"

"Yes, I am."

"I'd like to speak to him."

"Today isn't a regular visiting day..."

"And I'm not a regular visitor," Malfoy interrupted impatient. "I'm investigating a murder. Would you like to be charged with obstruction of justice?"

"That won't be necessary," the doctor answered, annoyed. "Anyway, I can't see how a conversation with him might help."

"That is for me to decide. Not you."

"He's not very coherent at the moment," she completed ignoring Draco's last comment.

"What is he suffering from, by the way?"

"We don't know for sure."

"You don't know for sure?" Malfoy asked, raising his eyebrows. Really, it was a miracle that these muggles could cure the flu with such incompetent doctors.

"Well, we believe he's suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress or something like that. There aren't clinical reasons for his symptoms, nor a history of insanity in his family. Anyway, a mental disease like schizophrenia, for example, would hardly take so long to disclose itself. He would have shown symptoms long ago.

"Didn't he?"

"No, From what we could find out, he was an entirely sane man until a short time ago."

"You mean: till he found the body in the tree."

"Yes, that was the event that prompted the break down."

"Will he talk to me?"

"Well, I don't know. But, even if he does, don't expect much help," she completed. "Follow me. I'll take you to Mr. McDermontt."

Draco followed her through a large well illuminated corridor. Several patients passed accompanied by a nurse. The place was deathly silent. At the end of the corridor, the doctor stopped in front of a locked door. She opened and said to Malfoy:

"This is his room. You can go in. Good luck," she said, giving Draco room to pass by her.

The room was small, but clean and airy. It had a large window with gratings, a bed and a small table with two chairs. At first, Draco thought it was empty and was turning back to the doctor to ask if this was her idea of a stupid joke, when he noticed a shrunken figure in the corner against the wall. The man seemed so absorbed, with a lost look, that he didn't seem to notice that there was someone in the room. Draco approached, slowly, and knelt in front of the man.

"Erick," he called, but the man didn't seem to notice. He continued listlessly. "Erick," Draco tried again, but didn't get an answer. That was frustrating. "Erick, I want to talk to you about the woman." When he heard that, he seemed to focus a little bit. "The woman you found on your farm."

"No, no!" McDermontt suddenly said, covering his ears with his hands. "I don't want to talk about it! I don't want to talk about it!"

"But I need you to. I want to find out what happened to her. Don't you want to help me? To catch who killed her?"

"You don't understand! You don't understand!" the other answered, nervous, without uncovering his ears.

"What don't I understand, Erick? You have to help me."

"You can't catch him! You can't catch him!"

"Why not?" Draco asked carefully.

"You can't catch the devil! Can't catch the devil!" the other answered, holding Malfoy by his shoulders and looking in to his eyes. "It was him who killed her! It was him!"

"The devil?"

"Yes, the devil," Erick answered, standing up and starting to walk from side to side. "He took her. He killed her. She was so pretty... She showed up in my dream, do you understand?" he asked turning to Draco for an instant and then started to walk again. "He took her and he'll take me too... He'll take everybody... You don't understand! You don't understand! He'll kill us all! US ALL!"

"Calm down, Erick, calm down. The devil won't reach you here."

"Of course he will!" the other answered with a laugh. "He can reach me anywhere. He planted that tree at my house. He killed her! He killed her! And he wants to kill everybody! He's going to kill everybody! You don't understand! Don't understand!"

"Erick," Draco said holding the man by his shoulders and making him stop. "I will understand if you explain it to me. Can you do that? Explain to me what happened?": The other seemed to concentrate for a few seconds.

"I don't know what happened."

"You don't know?"

"All I know is that he took her."

"The devil?"

"Yes, the devil. He stole her soul and then killed her. He wants to steal more souls. Don't you understand? He's going to kill everybody..."

"And he needs to steal souls to kill everybody?"

"He needs to steal souls to come to the world. He's not in the world now, but to kill he needs to come to the world... And he's going to kill everybody... He wants to kill everybody... You don't understand, you don't understand... "Erick completed, starting to walk again. "He's not a muggle, the devil... No, he's not... But he wants to kill everybody... all the muggles..."

"I beg your pardon???" Draco asked, surprised. "He wants to kill all the what???"

"All the muggles all the muggles all the muggles all the muggles... You don't understand... She was the queen of diamonds and he killed her... He killed her killed her killed her! He's going to kill everybody! He's going to kill everybody! He's going to kill everybody! NO!!!!" Erick suddenly screamed, twisting and covering his ears. "No! I don't want to hear! Make him stop! Make him stop!!! Please! Make him stop!!!"

"Erick," Malfoy said as soft as he could, approaching to the man.

"Make him stop! Make him stop!" McDermontt surprised him, grasping him desperately.

"I'll make him," he muttered, "I'll make him."

"Please! Please!" the other begged, letting himself fall to the ground, crying compulsively. "Please! Please!..."

Malfoy came closer to him and, making sure that there wasn't anyone looking through the door's window, took a small bottle from his pocket.

"Erick, look at me." The man turned, still crying. "Whenever 'he' is bothering you, drink a little of this." And gave him the bottle, "And you'll be able to sleep."

"But he speaks in my dreams...You don't understand..."

"If you drink from this bottle, he won't speak. I promise. Is that all right?"

"All right. All right," the other answered, calming down. "All right all right..." He kept repeating while Draco stood up and left the room. Outside, he found the doctor waiting.

"So, was he of some help?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered. "More than you think." And he was telling the truth. The woman had no way of knowing, but he had already seen this kind of dementia before. And he knew what was capable of causing it: very powerful magic. Such strong magic that that old man's mind wasn't capable of absorbing it or understanding, and he had gone mad. But not completely. Draco would be a fool if he ignored everything the man had said. Especially since he had mentioned the word 'muggle'. It was likely that he knew the truth, in some way, but simply couldn't understand, or pronounce it.

If Draco was worried before arriving there, when he left he was twice as worried. Seemed like this case was getting more and more obscure at every new discovery, instead of getting clearer. Later, while getting in the car and driving back, his soul was feeling very heavy. He needed to find out what was happening, and soon, but he didn't know what to do. The body was stolen, the woman couldn't be identified and the man who found her was crazy. The only evidences he had was a piece of glass and a little bit of sand, and still, he didn't know if they would be useful. He was at a dead end.

He came back to Edinburgh and from there, to London. When he arrived in the city, it was already late afternoon, and Draco was exhausted. He quickly passed by the office, as he had said to Anne, just to check on how things were going, if there were any other important cases or if there were any new clues for old cases, but no. Everything was calm. The day had been quiet and there had been no significant events. As soon as he was sure that everything was all right, he went home. He was feeling tired both physically and mentally. And, more than that, he was feeling frustrated, with no clues or ways to follow through.

When he finally apparated home, he was so exhausted that he ended up doing something that he hadn't done since he'd gotten his license: instead of apparating inside the house as always, Draco apparatated outside, in the corridor. He cursed himself mentally for the mistake, but he was too tired even to be angry. He just looked for the keys in his pocket and, when he didn't find them, he took his wand and muttered, "Alohomora." The door opened and he went inside, closing it. He took off his cloak and suit coat and left them on a chair. That was when he noticed it. It was fallen on the ground, close to the door, as if someone had pushed it under the door: a card. Draco approached curiously and took it: it was the queen of diamonds. Immediately, Erick's words came to mind: "...she was the queen of diamonds and he killed her..." Intrigued, Malfoy turned the card and, on the back, in small letters, he read the name: Lindsey Morgan.

"She was the queen of diamonds and he killed her," Draco repeated, in a low voice, finally understanding it. "He killed her."

He just stood there holding the card. Malfoy took a little floo powder and threw it in the fireplace. Suddenly, he knew exactly what he had to do. His path, very mysterious so far, was now surprisingly clear. Surprisingly clear.


	5. Chapter 4: Vita Brevis

**All Our Yesterdays**

**Translator:** Carol Grissom

**Author:** Flora Fairfield

**Disclaimer:** Characters are not mine, or Flora's

**e-mail:**

**Beta'd by:** potter1958

Chapter 4 – Vita Brevis

"_The world is so big and we know so little about it. And life is too short."_

_(Jostein Gaarder in "Vita Brevis")_

_Diagon Alley was crowded. Draco had difficulty walking among all the people. The shops were full of parents with their kids, everybody was busy with their last minute shopping for Christmas. For someone like him, who worked there every day, it was all just a huge inconvenience. Especially because Christmas had never been his favorite time of the year. All right, he used to get a lot of expensive presents, but he was obligated to go home and hear his father repeat over and over how inadequate he was. Not to mention having to put up with all of the smiling and singing people. No, this time of the year really wasn't his favorite._

_Still mangy, Malfoy opened the door of the small restaurant where he often had lunch and swept the place with his eyes. Punctual as a clock, she was already there, sitting at a table in the corner, smiling at him. Draco couldn't help but smile back. There were lots of things about Virginia Weasley that he didn't like: the fact that she was a Weasley, to start with; that she liked muggles and reproved him when he criticized them; her thousands (it seemed) of nosey brothers; the habit she had of always trying to force him to do this or that against his will; her bright red hair that sometimes over powered everything else in view; but the truth was that, when she looked at him like that: eyes sparkling and the most beautiful smile on her face, Draco could only think of the reasons why he loved her. In moments like that, he could forget all the problems they had and he felt like the luckiest guy in the world._

_When he approached, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer for a kiss. Draco didn't like this kind of demonstration of affection in public, so he quickly removed her arms, pretending not to notice her disappointment and sat down at the table._

"_So, why did you want to see me?" he asked while taking a look at the menu._

"_To show you this!" she exclaimed, smiling again like a child and showing him a pamphlet from a travel agency. "Oh, no," Draco thought._

"_Ginny, we've already talked about it. I thought it was already decided that you would spend Christmas at your parents'."_

"_And you? Are you staying alone? No way."_

"_You don't expect me to go to your parents' house, do you?"_

"_Of course not, Draco! I'm just suggesting an alternative solution... Come on... Christmas in the Caribbean! Sun, beach and me wearing very few clothes!... What else would you want?"_

"_How about the money to pay for all that?"_

"_We can afford it!"_

"_With what?"_

"_Oh, you're always worried about that..."_

"_And isn't there a reason to be worried?"_

"_Draco, in case you don't remember, I grew up in a family with practically no money. I know what that's like. And, in one way or another, we've always managed to survive, isn't that right? In the end, things always end up working out fine. You just have to try hard enough."_

"_I don't know how you can still believe in that after all that has happened."_

"_Draco..."_

"_If things always worked out fine, then the Ministry wouldn't have taken all my money and we could be going to the Caribbean now. We could even live there if you wanted, but no! We're stuck here! So don't come to me with this talk of 'everything works out fine in the end', because it's simply not true! And you're old enough to understand that!"_

"_Ah! And what is your solution? Me going to my parents' while you stay alone? Do you really want to spend our first Christmas away from me, deep in self-pity?"_

"_It's a day like any other of the year," he answered coldly, trying to ignore the disappointment in her face._

"_You know, sometimes I don't understand myself," Ginny answered, starting to gather her stuff._

"_Can't understand yourself why?"_

"_Why the hell I tried so hard to marry someone like you!" she answered standing up. "I've lost my appetite," she said, turning and leaving the restaurant. Draco knew she expected him to follow her. She always did that on purpose, as if she had a childish need of seeing him running after her, but, in one way or another, he knew he'd better not disappoint her. With a resigned sigh, he left money to pay for Ginny's drink on the table and left the place to follow after her._

Six thirty in the morning. The alarm clock just started to ring. Draco was staring at the ceiling in silence. He couldn't close his eyes the entire night. He spent the whole time awake, thinking about everything that was happening lately and he was scared. He wanted to go on, he had to go on, but he was scared. He was scared because he knew that, if he followed the clues of the murder in Scotland, he could end up finding Ginny, and that thought was scary. Even after eleven years, a part of him believed, against all the possibilities, that she was alive and okay. He wanted to find her alive. He didn't want to face the fact that she was dead. Just the thought was enough to drive him crazy.

As soon as he found the card under his door, he flooed his old boss through the fireplace. He had been the head of the Department of Missing Persons at the time Ginny had gone missing, and maybe he knew something about Lindsey Morgan despite the missing files. Malfoy still couldn't prove it, but he was sure that Lindsey Morgan and the woman in the tree were the same person. He dimly remembered the girl at Hogwarts. She was one of the few Slytherins with muggle parents, but she was three years younger than him. When he left Hogwarts, she must have been around fourteen, so it wasn't a surprise that he didn't remember her face very well. But he remembered the name though. And, if she really had gone missing, his old boss would probably remember her too. He set an appointment with him for the end of the day. This way, he would have time enough to do his own research first. He wanted to know as much as possible.

So, when the alarm clock rang at six thirty, Draco blinked once or twice, but didn't take too long to get up. He took a bath, got dressed, had breakfast, read the newspaper and left. He had work to do.

First, he went to the office. He couldn't neglect everything going on there, especially with the possibility of there being a spy in his department. When he arrived, Anne was already at her desk and gave him the mail when he passed, on the way to his room. The only letter of any real importance was from Creevey. He was anxious not hearing any news, and like every good journalist, he didn't like that. Even if he didn't want to send him an answer, Draco would have to tell him something. They weren't exactly friends. Actually, Malfoy was never comfortable with the friendship between Colin and Ginny, but, since she had gone missing, they shared information. Quickly he scrabbled a note saying he was still investigating and would probably have something the following day and asked what the other knew about Lindsey Morgan. Maybe he could find out something about her in old editions of the Daily Prophet.

Then, Draco called Anne and asked her to find the address of the closest family member of Lindsey Morgan, ex-Slytherin student of Hogwarts, daughter of muggles. A short time later, she came back with two addresses of Morgan muggle families that had a witch daughter. One of them had a house in Tunbridge Wells and the other in Bath. Having the names and addresses, Malfoy wrote two identical letters to the families, asking if they were Lindsey's parents and saying that, in case they were, he had relevant information about her to communicate. He wanted to set an appointment for that afternoon if possible. Anne dispatched the letters immediately and, trying to focus on his work – they were still busy with the back-to Hogwarts operation - , Draco waited for the answers.

A little before lunch he received two owls practically at the same time. The Baths said they didn't know any Lindsey Morgan. The second, however, seemed pretty anxious to get news and set the appointment for two p.m.. They wrote Draco that he could use the floo net to get there. Malfoy immediately wrote back confirming he would be there. Then, with his soul feeling a bit more tranquil, and certain that soon he would have some additional information in the case, he took his cloak and went out to eat something.

"_Ginny," he said when he finally reached her. In the middle of the mass of people in the street, her red hair was a gift. Only thanks to it Draco was able to find her. _

"_Come on, let's talk." He pulled her over to the entrance of a shop, where they would be protected from the 'comings and goings' of the sidewalk. _

"_Talk about what, Draco? Didn't you say it was already decided?"_

"_And since when do you listen to what I say?" he asked calmly. She couldn't help but show a smile as her answer. "I know, Ginny," he continued, changing his tone of voice, "that all this Christmas stuff is important to you and to your family. I know that, but I don't feel the same way. The opposite, actually. I don't like Christmas!"_

"_How can you not like Christmas?" she asked, shocked. It was hard to believe he was speaking seriously._

"_It's very simple, really. You have good memories about this time of the year. I don't. I just have bad memories."_

"_It's impossible that you haven't had one damn good memory of Christmas in your entire life, Draco!"_

"_Well, maybe when I was a child, but it was so long ago that I can barely remember. Believe me, I'll probably be in an even worse mood than the usual around the 24th and 25th. Wouldn't you prefer to hang around with happier people than me? Who would really be having fun with all the parties and stuff?"_

"_Yes, but it's Christmas, Draco! We should be together!"_

"_For me, it's a day just like any other, my angel," he said softly. "It will be like any normal Sunday, when you go to have lunch with your family..."_

"_And you never go with me," she completed with some sadness in her voice._

"_I'm married to you, Ginny. Not to your brothers," he said seriously._

"_I know, I know. Putting you all in the same room would be the same as opening hell's doors and freeing all the beasts of the underworld on humanity..."_

"_Exactly. And that's why I think you'd best go to your parents', who will surely die if you don't go, rather than stay home and endure my complaints. I can live without you for one night, Ginny."_

"_Wow, that's a romantic thing to say!" she said ironically._

"_I never hid from you the fact that I'm not romantic. But I told you the truth, didn't I?"_

"_Yes."_

"_So it's decided?"_

"_But you're staying alone..." She started to protest again, but Draco kindly interrupted her, putting a finger on her lips._

"_No more arguing my love. Please," he asked, bowing to replace his finger to her lips. How could she refuse when he put things that way?_

"_Ah, hell!" she exclaimed mentally. "Life is too short." No more fighting, so, she surrender to kiss him._

A few minutes after two p.m., Draco was at the fireplace of his office, holding a folder with the documents related to the case in one hand and a hand of floo powder in the other. His heart was a little accelerated and he was nervous, since he couldn't avoid it, but he was also full of hope and expectation. Who knows, after talking with the Morgan family, perhaps the connection between Ginny and Lindsey Morgan would begin to be explained? Deep inside, he hoped there was no connection. That the destiny of his wife wasn't connected in any way to that of the young ex-Slytherin's, but the chances of that being true were slim. Very slim. And Draco was getting tired of trying to block the sunlight with a sieve. It was time to stop lying to himself.

Seconds later, he was coming out of the other fireplace, coughing a little and trying to remove some of the dust from his cloak. Standing in front of him were two people: a man and a woman. Both surely less than sixty. The man was tall and thin, with gray hair. The woman was shorter and had blonde hair. Both stared at Draco anxious for a moment, until the man said something.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. I'm James Morgan and this is my wife, Elizabeth."

"Pleasure to meet you," Draco answered, shaking the couple's hands. "Are you Lindsey Morgan's parents?"

"Yes, we are," Mrs. Morgan answered, indicating a sofa where Malfoy could sit.

"Have you finally found her?" Her voice was full of anxiousness.

"Maybe," Draco answered. "Actually, Mrs. Morgan, I couldn't find much information about your daughter's disappearance. Did you, at that time, go to Missing Persons?"

"Yes of course!" Mr. Morgan answered immediately. "We did all we could. We even left our fireplace connected to your floo network to make it easier, should she wanted to make contact, but nothing ever happened... No clue, no letter, no news, nothing..."

"And would your daughter leave by free will, without letting you know?"

"No." It was Mrs. Morgan who answered. "Our daughter was a good girl. When we found out she was a witch, it was a shock. She always made weird things happen, but no one imagined... We were afraid, of course, but..."

"But she never let us down," Mr. Morgan completed.

"No, not, really. She was always happy, always ready for the next adventure. She said life is too short to waste time standing still, being afraid, or thinking too much."

"When she left Hogwarts, she started to work as a lawyer in one of your firms... What was the name?" He turned to his wife.

"Harper & Associates," the woman answered. "I think that was it..."

"They're the best known magical world firm in England," Draco said. "Undoubtedly, it was a good place for a Slytherin to work."

"She wanted to be an expert in contracts. She was just starting, but loved her job. She wouldn't abandon it just like that."

"Did Lindsey live with you?" Malfoy asked.

"No. She had moved to a small apartment in Diagon Alley, but we spoke often. Practically every day."

"Any boyfriend?"

"Not that we knew. She was too busy with work. My daughter was a good girl, Mr. Malfoy," Mrs. Morgan said, not being able to hide her emotions.

"Have you found her?" Mr. Morgan asked again.

"I'm not sure, but it's a possibility," Draco said carefully. "About a month ago, a young woman's body was found in Scotland. The body was extremely well preserved because it was kept in sand, but it was determined that the woman had been dead for about eleven years," he completed.

"My God!" Mrs. Morgan put her hand to her mouth.

"I have reasons to believe that this woman was your daughter, but I'm not absolutely sure. The muggle police made a reconstruction of her face on computer," he said, opening the folder and taking out the picture. "If you could make an identification..." The couple looked at each other. Both were shocked. Mrs. Morgan had tears in her eyes, but still, her husband agreed. He extended his arm and took the paper. At that moment, Draco was sure that the woman was Lindsey Morgan. Her mother's face contracted instantly and she started to cry, hugging Mr. Morgan, who seemed to be trying to control himself. With a shaking hand, he returned the paper to Draco.

"My God!" the woman muttered among hiccups. "Our little daughter... Our little daughter..."

Malfoy lowered his eyes while putting the paper back in the folder. He didn't even want to imagine how he would react if someone had told him that Ginny's body had been found. That was a kind of pain he didn't want to know, but the woman's hiccups reminded him that he wasn't far from being in a situation like that.

Trying to hide his own discomfort, Draco stood up to give the couple some privacy. They stood up, the woman being supported by her husband's shoulder. Mr. Morgan asked Malfoy to wait, that he would be right back, and both left the room. Draco breathed a sigh of relief. At least he would have a moment to compose himself. This was, no doubt, the most difficult case he had ever worked on. And the one that could bring the worst consequences.

Almost half an hour later, Mr. Morgan came back, still totally shocked.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but my wife is in no condition to talk to you."

"Don't worry," Draco answered. "I understand." "Even better than you can imagine," he completed mentally.

"Almost eleven years!" Mr. Morgan exclaimed, touched. "Eleven years. You'd think we'd be better prepared for this news, wouldn't you?"

"Nobody can be prepared for such news."

"I thought we were, you know? We almost wanted to hear something like this... Not that we didn't want to find her alive, but we thought that... that knowing she was dead would be better than lost. The worst was not knowing what had happened... And now, all we want is to go back to ignorance..." Mr. Morgan said, not being able to hold back the tears. Draco gulped dryly. "I'm sorry," the other continued, drying the tears. "But she was our little girl... Our only daughter.. Our biggest joy... We were so proud of her... She was all we had..."

"I'm sorry," Draco responded honestly. At that moment, he had forgotten that the man standing in front of him was a useless muggle. The only thing he seemed to see was the pain they shared. He could never scorn or mock the man for crying. He could never wish that pain on anyone.

"I know, I know," Mr. Morgan replied. "Do you know how she died?"

"Bleeding," Draco answered, suddenly undecided. How could he tell him everything that had happened to the girl? Something in his tone of voice, however, must've denoted what he was thinking.

"Was it a horrible death?" The man let his body fall on the sofa, with an expression of increased pain.

"Yes." That was all Malfoy could say, sitting down too.

"Please, don't tell me the details. I don't want to know."

"I won't." Draco breathed a sigh of relief. It was better this way.

"Do you know who killed her?"

"Not yet. That's exactly what I'm investigating, but, as I said, I'm having some difficulty in getting information about the disappearance. Do you remember the name of the investigator in charge of the case at that time?"

"It was a man named Smith," Mr. Morgan answered.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am. Why?"

"Nothing," Draco answered. "Just checking." But deep inside he knew there was something wrong, because he remembered no one by the name Smith ever working at the Department. At least not in the last thirteen years, the time he'd been working there.

"The file containing information about your daughter disappeared from our Department."

"What? But how's that possible? Don't you keep copies?"

"Our files are charmed so that they can't leave the Department. I don't know what happened to your daughter's," Draco answered. "Any information you could give me, anything you can remember, will be extremely useful."

"Well," Mr. Morgan started, searching his memory. "I remember everything. You can't forget the circumstances of something like this, but, understand, Mr. Malfoy, my wife and I know very little about it. Very little."

"Anything will help," Draco repeated, encouraging him.

"If you insist..." the other started. "Well, let's see... It was Tuesday. The day was November 14th. Lizzie and I were in London. A business trip, but we decided to make a visit to Lindsey. She had lunch with us in muggle London and asked us to stop by that night. We still hadn't had the opportunity to visit her apartment in Diagon Alley. We agreed to meet at seven p.m. at the Leaky Cauldron, but she never showed up." Mr. Morgan had to stop to dry some tears. "We waited for two hours and she didn't show up! Lindsey was never late. We got worried, so we got the owner's help to go ourselves into Diagon Alley and go to her apartment."

"And what did you find there?" Malfoy asked, nervous.

"The room was a little messy. Didn't seem like anyone had been looking for something. Only seemed that there must have been some kind of fight there."

"Lindsey tried to resist?"

"Ah, she would surely try! My daughter didn't give up on things easily. We found a broken lamp on the floor, the coffee table was turned over and some objects were on the floor."

"Is that all?" Draco asked.

"There was..." The man stopped again to concentrate. The memories were too painful.

"There were some drops of blood on the floor. Just a few, but they were there."

"And the door wasn't bashed in?" Draco asked trying to cover up his anxiety. He didn't want to influence the observations of the girl's father.

"No, the door wasn't bashed in, but there was something on it..."

"What?" Draco asked, not being able to control himself.

"A triangle. Painted in red." Malfoy closed his eyes as a sign of defeat. That was exactly what he didn't want to hear. "I don't remember anything else. I'm sorry."

"No problem, Mr. Morgan. Everything you said was very important. Could I please ask one more thing?"

"Sure."

"A picture of your daughter at the time of her disappearance."

"You can keep this," the other answered, standing up and picking up a picture Draco hadn't seen there. Malfoy put it inside the folder. "When are you going to release her body so that we can bury her?" Mr. Morgan asked finally. Draco hesitated. He had momentarily forgotten that small detail.

"There was a setback in Scotland."

"Setback? What kind of setback?"

"Your daughter's body was transferred to the coroner's office in Edinburgh."

"And can't it be transferred here? Do you still need it in the investigation?"

"When I arrived to move the body, Mr. Morgan, it wasn't there anymore."

"Wasn't there? And where the hell is it now???"

"I don't know. It was stolen. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? We won't even be able to give our little daughter a decent funeral?!"

"I'll find her, Mr. Morgan. I will find her."

"You can't promise us that."

"Yes, I can," Draco said, very seriously. "Believe me. I'll bring her back."

"Thank you," the man said sincerely and Draco almost liked him. The only advantage about dealing with muggles, was that they didn't know the name Malfoy and its bad reputation in the wizarding world. Therefore, Draco didn't have to be on his guard all the time. If only they weren't muggles, they would be perfect.

"Just wait to hear from me, Mr. Morgan," he said standing up and extending a hand.

"Will you keep us informed?"

"Yes, I will. See you," Draco said, picking up the folder and turning to the fireplace.

"See you," Mr. Morgan said despondently.

_It was Christmas Eve. Draco was in the kitchen, drinking a glass of orange juice. He was wearing only black silk pajama pants, one of the few things he managed to save from his wardrobe when the Mansion caught fire right after his graduation from Hogwarts. It was cold outside, but some charms and a fireplace were more than enough to keep the small apartment warm. After drinking the juice, he put the glass in the sink and went back to the living room. All of the lights were off, so the only light in the room was coming from the fireplace. Silence reigned._

_Ginny had left sometime earlier to go to her parents' house. She was probably having fun with her brothers and nephews right now, singing, talking or doing whatever they do at Christmas. The only thing Draco was sure of, was that it was quite different from the big dinners his parents used to offer at this time of the year. It was weird, actually. Things weren't the same anymore. He knew that, and he wasn't fool enough to pretend they were, but it couldn't stop him from missing them. He missed the splendor and magnificence. He missed the etiquette and tradition. He missed the money. A Malfoy without money isn't a real Malfoy._

_Deep inside, Draco felt like a half-Malfoy. He still had the pretentiousness, but didn't have the resources or respect, and that was worse than death. The truth was that he didn't know if he would be able to make it through without her, and still, it was painful. Part of him really wanted to go on that trip Ginny suggested. Wanted to forget all the problems, pick a port-key and spend some days with her in a tropical paradise. The other part, however, was a persistent voice whispering in his ear that, if they did that, maybe they wouldn't be able to survive the next month. She would surely say it was bullshit. That, in the end, everything would work out fine, but he refused to be reckless and then have to ask the bank for money, or worse, someone from her family. That would be the end. Her having to work was bad enough. On second thought, it was bad enough that he had to work! But there were no other options._

_Worst of all, however, was knowing that, at the end of every day, he would be coming back to their small apartment that wasn't even in Diagon Alley. It was located in a mixed part of muggle London, where many wizards lived, but still.... It was a great humiliation for a Malfoy. Looking around, Draco couldn't hide his disgust. He knew Ginny liked the place. She said it was small and cozy, but that wasn't what he saw when he looked around. What he saw was a living room decorated with cheap furniture, old curtains, old carpets, a fireplace that was always clogged and, at that moment, a Christmas tree that was undoubtedly too big for the room. She thought it was lovely. He thought it was repulsive. The only good thing about being in that apartment, at that moment, was that he wasn't having dinner sitting next to Potter, who as sure as the sun rising in the morning, was trying to hit on Ginny. Clenching his teeth, Draco tried to clear his mind of that unpleasant image. He tried to keep her from visiting her parents too frequently – traditionally she went every Sunday - , but he couldn't. In the end, she said there were only two options: she would go alone or he would go with her. Draco never tried to stop her again. _

_Still, however, he felt insanely jealous just at the thought of her being beside him, even if it was for only a few hours. He knew she had been in love with him most of her years at Hogwarts. God! Everybody knew that! And, if he were a better man, maybe he would've left her to Mr. Perfection. God knows it would be easier for her: her family would love it, she could travel around the world with his Quidditch team, not to mention all the things Potter's money could buy her and that she undoubtedly deserved. Draco, however, wasn't a better man. He was still a Malfoy and whatever a Malfoy wants, he gets: he wanted Ginny, he got Ginny. Simple as that._

_Satisfied with the thought that there was at least one thing in this world that both Potter and himself had wanted and that he had won in the end, Draco went to the bedroom. He wanted to take advantage of the tranquil night to get some sleep. So, he went to bed and pulled up the covers. He closed his eyes, but before he could float off to sleep, he was interrupted by a roaring sound in the living room. Startled, he got up again and went to check what was going on. As soon as he saw the fireplace, he couldn't hold back one of his rare and precious laughs. That woman of his was simply the best!_

Draco arrived at the restaurant a little late. He didn't like delays and he knew Matt didn't like them either, but he couldn't avoid it. At the time he was prepared to leave the department for the meeting, two of his investigators came to his office with urgent problems.

Draco helped them and sent them on their way, but, when he finally managed to leave work, he was already late.

As soon as he set foot in the Leaky Cauldron, he could see the person he'd come to see sitting at a table in the corner, which afforded some privacy. "Mathew O'Brien," Draco thought admirably. This was the only person besides Ginny he could honestly admit he liked. When he approached, Matt stood up and greeted him with a smile.

The man had a solid appeal. He was fiftyish, over six foot tall, large shoulders, dark brown eyes. His short hair had been this color when they'd met, but now it was mixed with gray. He was the previous head of the Department of Missing Persons and everything Draco knew about the profession, Matt had taught him.

"Hello, Matt," Malfoy said while hugging him fondly.

"How are you?" the other said with a fatherly tone of voice.

"The same as always," Draco said, sitting down in front of Matt.

"That's not what you said yesterday."

"It's about Ginny."

"I had thought it was something like that."

"Am I that predictable?"

"On this subject, Draco, yes, you are extremely predictable."

"I need your help," Malfoy said ignoring the last comment. "Do you remember the name Lindsey Morgan?"

"Lindsey Morgan." The other seemed confused. "Should I?"

"She disappeared a few months before Ginny in similar circumstances," Draco said, showing the man the girl's picture.

"In similar circumstances? And why didn't we know this before?"

"That's exactly what I was hoping you could help me understand. Her file disappeared from the Department! Her body disappeared from the morgue! And I only discovered her name through an anonymous tip. Everything in this case seems to be obscured by an unbreakable fog of mystery!!!"

"Calm down, Draco, calm down. Explain everything to me slowly. First, where and how was she found?"

"At a farm in Scotland. During a storm, lightning hit a tree and broke it in two. Morgan's body was inside the trunk, with a huge amount of sand. She had been missing for almost eleven years and probably died a short time after being put into the tree."

"And what was the cause of death?"

"Bleeding," Draco answered, wishing he didn't have to repeat all this. "But she was beaten up and rapped."

"My God!" Matt exclaimed horrified. Crimes like that weren't common in the wizarding world. "And do you believe that the person who killed her is the same who took Ginny?"

"I'm sure," the other confirmed without hiding his discomfort.

"You can't be sure about it, Draco!"

"Believe me, I've already passed through the denying phase. Lindsey Morgan had a red triangle painted on her forehead and one painted on the door of her apartment when she disappeared. Do you remember what we found at the Burrow's door when Ginny disappeared?"

"A red triangle."

"Exactly."

"But, Draco, we don't even know what it means..."

"But the murderer knows," Malfoy affirmed flatly. A long pause settled between them.

"Do you remember," Matt started, finally breaking the silence, "the mess the department was in eleven years ago?"

"Yes, of course. I had just started to work there. Voldemort and the Death Eaters had left us an inheritance of missing people. While many of the cases weren't explained, we never had a break."

"Not to mention the aurors, always annoying us and always poking their noses into everything."

"I remember. But what does that have to do with anything?..."

"At that time, many cases considered less important ended up being passed on to another agency."

"Another agency?"

"Have you heard of the Autonomous Investigators Society?" Matt asked.

"Yes, of course. You work with them now, don't you?"

"Yes. We're an extra-Ministry group that also investigates crimes to help the formal police."

"Don't you help only aurors?"

"Yes. Now we help only the aurors, since the group has an extensive library in the area of the dark arts, but eleven years ago, the Society had just been created, so the Ministry decided to put it to work investigating less important cases, as a test."

"And they took the cases of missing people that weren't connected to Voldemort?"

"Exactly. That might explain the missing files."

"So they're in the Society and not in the Department," Draco concluded, also finally understanding why he hadn't recognized the name of the investigator that Mr. Morgan had given him.

"It's possible."

"There are other missing files from that period."

"Do you think there could be more victims?"

"Maybe. The only way to find out is to find the files. Can you do that, Matt?"

"I don't know, Draco. I'm new there and they're mistrustful with new people... Everything is confidential... But I can try."

"Please."

"I know how important this is to you. I know." O'Brien assumed a soft tone, "But are you sure you want to find out what happened? Is it worth it to suffer all this pain?"

"I need to know. It's the only way."

"The only way for you to move on with your life, Draco?"

"What life?" Malfoy asked with a dry laugh, passing a hand through his hair. "I have no life without her, Matt."

"But if she is..."

"Dead?"

"You won't do anything stupid, will you?" the other said worried.

"Like what? Killing myself? What for? I've been dead for all these years, haven't I? What's the difference, after all?"

"Don't speak like that, Draco."

"I say it because it's true. Would you please let me know when you get the files, Matt?"

"Won't you have dinner with me?"

"No. I want to go home. Will you?" Malfoy repeated.

"I will. Don't worry."

With a last handshake, Draco stood up and left the restaurant. Outside, it started to rain, but he didn't care about that. Walking through the streets of Diagon Alley, Malfoy couldn't avoid the memories that invaded him.

_The scene happening in front of his eyes was at least hilarious: Ginny had fallen and was sitting on the floor, covered with dust, wearing a tight red dress that reached her knees and had a V neckline, with a Santa Claus cap on her head and the most indignant expression on her face._

"_Arghhh! I hate floo powder!" she exclaimed furiously._

"_You could have apparated," Draco said calmly, approaching to help her stand up._

"_But then I would miss the glorious entry effect, wouldn't I?"_

"_Glorious, you bet!" He laughed._

"_It's not funny!" She lightly slapped his arm. "I did it for you!"_

"_To make me laugh?"_

"_No!"_

"_To arm me with a story that I can use to annoy you for the rest of your life?"_

"_No! To give you a good memory of our first Christmas!" she answered still indignant._

"_You most definitely did it," Draco said smiling, while leaning over and giving her a quick kiss._

"_I thought you would like it," she said. "I know I'm not exactly a Santa Claus wearing, but..."_

"_Indeed," Malfoy said, paying more attention to her now. "I must admit, however, that the beard and the belly is a great touch, but a little less dust would be better..."_

"_It's not my fault! It's this damn floo net!"_

"_Ginny, honestly, you don't seem like a pure blood witch when you speak like that!"_

"_There you go again saying... Muggle borns aren't worse wizards than we are. Draco!"_

"_Of course they are!"_

"_No, they're not! When will you stop with this childishness and start to think like a man?"_

"_At the same time you stop with your childish dreams and start to see the world as it really is!"_

"_I see the world as it is!"_

"_Of course you don't see! Everything you see is just pretty pink clouds!"_

"_That's not true!"_

"_Yes, it is! I don't know what you're doing here! You should be with your family, who also only see the world with pretty pink clouds and is forever happy."_

"_Yeah, well maybe I should be. God knows Harry appreciated my outfit better than you!" she yelled, but she knew this time she had gone too far. Malfoy clenched his teeth, squeezed his fists, controlling himself as much as he could, then passed by Ginny without saying a word, going to the bedroom. "No, Draco, Wait," she called, regretful. He stopped immediately, still furious. "I didn't come to argue," she continued, approaching and hugging him. "I don't want to argue with you today, my love."_

"_A little late for that, isn't it?"_

"_I love you," she said softly. "Don't be angry. I really don't want to argue anymore. Life is too short to waste our precious time with senseless arguments, don't you think? I came because here's where I belong, beside you. Doesn't matter how much I love my parents and my brothers, here's where my heart is."_

"_I love you too," he answered still moody, but finally turning to hug her better. _

"_Damned Potter really saw you in this dress?" he asked, finally._

"_Of course not, you retard!" she answered laughing. "This is just for you."_

"_Oh, but you know exactly what to say to make me furious, don't you?"_

"_Of course I know. I know you like the palm of my hand."_

"_Smug."_

"_Arrogant."_

"_Liar."_

"_Domineering."_

"_Me?"_

"_Yes, you!"_

"_Ah-há... Look who's s..."_

"_Draco!"_

"_What?"_

"_Shut up and kiss me."_

_He, obviously, obeyed willingly. A few minutes later however, Ginny interrupted their kissing. – to his complete displeasure – to ask him something._

"_Did you look through the window tonight?" She smiled._

"_Why should I?" he asked irritated._

"_Come see!"_

"_I don't want..."_

"_Come!" She pulled him. "It's snowing."_

"_Ginny," Draco said hugging her. "It's just snow. We see it every year!"_

"_It's not just snow! It's Christmas Eve snow! Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, staring at the sky with a smile. Draco really tried to see the beauty she was seeing, see the world in that moment as she was seeing it, but, for him, it was just snow. _

"_It's beautiful." He said finally just to see her smile get bigger._

"_Draco," Ginny started after a long pause, "I know that you worry."_

"_I worry?" He didn't understand at first what she meant._

"_About us. You're always worried about the practical side of our lives and I never seemed to pay enough attention to it as I should. I know you worry about it and I think it's good, but... I wanted you to understand my point of view."_

"_And what is your point of view?"_

"_I think that, despite everything, everything will work out as long as we're together. Nothing else matters, as long as we're together."_

"_As long as we're together," Draco echoed thoughtfully, hugging her stronger. "As long as we're together..."_

The alarm-clock rang punctually at six thirty in the morning. After a night of not so good sleep, Draco got up tired and looked around the room; he was alone. No sounds coming from the kitchen, no sound of water from the bathroom. The silence reigned in the house. He was alone... "As long as we're together," he thought embittered. As long as we're together...


	6. Chapter 5: Disturbing revealings

All Our Yesterdays 

**Translator: **Carol Grissom

**Author: **Flora Fairfield

**Disclaimer: **Characters are not mine, or Flora's

**Beta'd by:** Victoria P.

Chapter 5 – Disturbing Revealings

Three days. Three entire days without news. Draco was drumming his fingers on the table nervously. Some of the people in the Department were starting to realize that something wasn't going right. He was normally dry, but in the last few days he was moody, irritated, and distant. Something was worring him – it was obvious – but nobody knew what. He looked at his watch for what seemed the thousandth time in that morning. Three days. Three days since he talked to the Morgans and, so far, O'Brien hadn't showed up, the laboratory still had not sent the report about the sand, and Creevey was still silent at the radio. Malfoy was tired. There was nothing more tiresome than waiting, especially when the only thing he wanted was to be in action. He knew he was neglecting his work, his responsibilities, but that case was more important than anything else. That case would redefine his life. 

With one last sigh, Draco stood up and left the office. He could not stay there anymore, walking from side to side like a caged animal. He should have known that it would be useless to give tasks to Creevey, especially if it was to research about Lindsey Morgan in older editions of the newspaper. If he wanted to find out anything, he would have to do the service himself. With this decision in his head, he left the building, leaving a message with Anne and went to the library in Diagon Alley. It was the Ministry Library and he knew that there he could find all the editions of The Daily Prophet from the last five centuries, at least.

He walked fast until he reached the building, which was old and imposing, and entered without paying any attention to the people around him. The library had seven floors, but he knew the periodics were on the third. He ignored the information balcony and went upstairs. On the third floor, he waited while a young woman he had never seen before asked the librarian for some editions of a wizarding medicine magazine. While he regained normalty in his breathing, Draco convinced himself he did the right thing by going to the library.

'I should've came before,' he thought, 'instead of waiting for Creevey forever...'

His thoughts were interrupted.

"Good morning! What can I do for you?" asked the old librarian.

"Good morning," he answered leaving his thoughts behind, "I'd like to take a look in some older editions of the Daily Prophet."

"Which period?"

"Twelve... No, better, thirteen years ago. And, if possible, I'd like a private room."

"Is this some kind of joke?" the woman asked not showing signs of irritation, but instead displaying a funny smile.

"Joke? Why?"

"Well, because in the last couple of days a person has been consulting exactly the editions of the Daily Prophet of this period and he also asked for a private room."

"Another person?" Draco asked, suddenly alert.

That couldn't be just a mere coincidence. Whoever was researching those records had to know something about the case!

"Is this person here now?" he asked carefully.

"Yes. He practically didn't leave in the last couple of days!"

"Could you tell me in which room he is in?"

"Well, I don't think it's appropriate..."

"Here's the thing," Malfoy started.

First he thought in making up some lie, but, in the end, he decided that the truth would be more convicing.

"I work at the Department of Missing Persons," he said, showing his identification, "and this man who's researching old editions of the Daily Prophet might have relevant information for the solution of a crime. Could you take me to him?"

He tried to look as sincere as possible, which wasn't so hard, since he was telling the truth.

"Well," the woman said, trying to decide whether it was a good decision, "If it's really important..."

"It's very imprtant," he insisted.

"In that case... please, follow me."

Draco was thankful for the lead. After three days of complete stagnation, it seemed like he would finally make some progress. Silently, he followed the old librarian, holding his wand inside his robes. Maybe he would have to use it. After all, who would be this interested in the news of that period? What did he know? What was he trying to find out? Malfoy's head was full of doubts, but strangely, he was not nervous. He was only alert and observing like a predator waiting.

The woman guided him through the desks, which reached to the end of the room, where some sound-proof, private rooms could be found. Without ceremony, she put a hand on the knob of one of the doors and pushed it, with no warnings to the user of the room. Again, Draco was thankful. Whoever was inside there, would be taken by surprise.

"For God's sake, Mary! Are you trying to give me a heart attack!" the man asked from inside.

Draco closed his eyes when he recognised the voice. He should have known.

"You tell me. Mr. Malfoy here says you might have information about a crime. Is that why you're using my library, boy?"

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy! He has no idea of what he's talking about, isn't that right?"

"I should've known that the bastard researching here was you, right, Creevey?" Malfoy said moodily.

Apparently, there would not be any significant discoveries today.

"Hey! Don't start, I'm here to help you!"

"Sirs!" The librarian reprimanded them, and shot them a look.

"Ah, Mary, don't worry!" Colin said with a smile, "We're fine."

The woman faced him, showing in her face the feelings of incredulity.

"Really!" he reafirmed, passing an arm around her and kindly leading her to the exit. "We're old friends."

At this time, Draco released a dry laugh.

"And we'll be fine," Colin finished.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, Mary! We have a lot to talk about!" Colin gave a smile that would make even Lockhart jealous.

"All right, then," the librarian answered, leaving with a severe look in their direction.

"Oh, that was beautifull!" Draco exclaimed as soon as they were alone. "Are you sure you don't want some minutes alone with her?"

"Shut up, Malfoy. I'm just an asiduous library denizen."

"Do you swear that's all? I could bet she was your type!" Malfoy said sarcastically.

"Come on," Colin said in the same tone, "We both know redheads are my type..."

"Ah, you shit!" Draco exclaimed, suddenly furious, while advancing over Creevey and holding him by his throat against the wall, "What did you say? Come on, repeat it, you bastard!"

"You're crazy!" Colin said pushing him back. "You and your insane jealousy! We both know Ginny and I were never more than friends! And still, just a small insinuation is enough for you to go insane!" he completed.

Draco didn't answer. He just faced him while his breathing returned to normal.

"Ginny was crazy for you." Colin told him, "Only God knows why, but she was! There's no reason for all this."

"I don't need you to tell me this, Creevey."

"Oh, I think you do, because you keep acting like an imbecile. How could she put up with you!" he asked more to himself than to Draco.

"Only God knows," Draco answered and continuted to change the subject, because talking about her was too painful. "The old woman said..."

"Her name is Mary."

"The old woman said," he repeated, "that you have been locked in here for two days. Did you find anything interesting, at least?"

"Yes, I did," Colin answered after a pause. "Very interesting. I was about to send you an owl."

"Well, I'm here now."

"Yes. Take a look at this," he started, picking some sheets in the table. "I almost couldn't believe when I found."

"What!" Malfoy said impatiently.

"I started looking for information about Lindsey Morgan, but I didn't find anything. But I've found something even more interesting. Look at these," Creevey said, putting on the table two different newspapers and pointing to one of them. "Hannah Abbott. Do you remember her?"

"Should I?"

"She went to Hogwarts the same year you did. Hufflepuff."

"And you wanted me to remember..."

"I'm serious, Malfoy."

"What about her?"

"She disappeared thirteen years ago. She was twenty at the time."

"Were the conditions were similar to the ones of Ginny's disappearing?" Draco asked seriously.

"More or less. There was nothing broken at her place. Nothing out of place. The only strange thing was a triangle marked on her door."

"My God!" Malfoy exclaimed, grabbing the newspaper. "What did the police find at the time?"

"Nothing. It happened just two years after Voldemort was defeated. The Ministry was still busy with the Death Eaters. Disappearances weren't uncommon..."

"And I don't know?" Malfoy muttered more to himself. "Who investigated the case?"

"It doesn't say. Actually, it was an anouncement her parents put at the Daily Prophet, asking that, if anyone had seen her, to let them know."

"They're muggles," Draco said looking at the address indicated. "Lindsey Morgan was a muggle born too."

"I thought that too, but then I saw this other news."

"Another anouncement?" Malfoy asked picking the newspaper.

"No, it's a small report this time. The girl disappeared twelve years ago."

"Emma Dobbs. She was only seventeen."

"Yes. She had just left Hogwarts. But her parents weren't muggles."

"A pure blood?"

"Yes, like Ginny."

"There was also a triangle on her door?"

"Yes. That's what all these cases have in common."

"It can't be just that," Draco said, sitting down.

"What other similarities do you see in them?"

"When did they disappear?" Malfoy asked, concentrating, without paying attention to what Colin was saying.

"I've said that! Thirteen and twelve years respectively!"

"No, Creevey! I want to know the time of the year! At what time of the year did they disappear?"

"Well, the first newspaper is from October, but it says Hannah Abbott was missing for four weeks..."

"September, then. And the other?"

"September too," Creevey realized.

"Ginny also disappeared in September."

"And what about Lindsey Morgan?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask it to her parents, but I can send an owl."

"That'd be good," Creevey agreed, sitting down too.

He had discovered more than he thought at first.

"So the cases are related?" Creevey continued.

"Yes," Draco answered firmly. "Pay attention. Let's organize what we've found out. What do we have so far? Four missing women. All of them between seventeen and twenty three years old. All of them studied in Hogwarts..."

"That doesn't count. I mean, everybody from here went to Hogwarts..."

"You're right," Malfoy agreed, and remembering something else said, "Which house did Emma Dobbs belong to?"

"Ravenclaw. She arrived in the year of the Triwizard Tournament."

"Do you remember her?"

"I remember she was cute, but never gave much attention to me..."

"Ginny was from Gryffindor," Malfoy started, ignoring the last comment. "Morgan, from Slytherin. Abbott, from Hufflepuff and Dobbs from Ravenclaw. Do you see the pattern?"

"Don't forget the years!" Colin said, finally understanding what was the game.

"Ginny, ten years ago; Morgan, eleven; Dobbs, twelve; and Abbott thirteen..."

"And all in September," Draco completed.

"I mean, Morgan disappeared in September, right?" Colin said.

"Want to bet?"

"No," he answered dispounded. "I'll lose."

"The same person took these four women," Malfoy concluded. "No doubts."

"But, if..."

"If what?"

"If he took all four of them, he... did he... do the same thing to all of them?"

"Serial killers don't change their _modus operandi_," Draco answered him. "What he did to one, he did to all."

"But then, Ginny..."

"The chances are that she's... dead."

"Malfoy," Colin started after a pause. "If that's true... is it... is it worth investigating still?"

Draco observed him for awhile. The other didn't understand. How could he? He didn't love her the same way.

"I'll only stop," he finally answered, "when I see the body. Since I have yet to see the body, the search continues. Got that, Creevey? With or without your help, the search continues."

"With my help, Malfoy. I want to find her too."

"So keep looking at the newspapers. I have to write to Morgan's parents and I also need to talk to someone who might help us," Draco said, standing up and going to the door.

"Malfoy," the other called him back.

"What?"

"I... I'm really sorry."

"Me too, Creevey. Me too, he completed and, with that, opened the door and left the room.

Draco arrived in his office still full of thoughts. He threw his cloak on the chair and started to walk from side to side, ocasionally passing his hand through his hair. All that was so sudden, so dangerous, so painful surrounded him.

"No, it's not sudden," he thought, calming down.

Since Creevey had shown him the newspapers, Ginny's death was what he feared most. On second thought, since the fatidic day she disappeared, that was all Draco feared. That was also what he expected.

Realizing that his weird behaviour was starting to call curious looks from his investigators, Malfoy obligated himself to sit down and, as calmly as possibe, write a note to Morgan's parents, asking about the date of the disappearance. Then, he left his room for awhile and gave Anne instructions to send it. Soon, he returned to the room, still nervous, and pulled down the blind. Draco rarely did that and surely people would strangely observe it, but he was too worried to care.

Without hesitating, he threw a hand of floo powder in the fireplace and called Matt. In an instant, the surprised man's face appeared in the middle of the flames.

"Draco, I thought that we had a deal that when I manage to get the files I would get in touch..."

"I know, Matt. It's just that I found out more stuff," he answered and went on describing what Colin had found in the library.

"My God!" O'Brien exclaimed when he finished hearing. "This is very serious."

"I know."

"And do you think the other missing files are the Abbott's and Dobbs's?"

"I think so. And, since they're not here, the chances are that..."

"They're here."

"Exactly," Malfoy said seriouly, and after a pause continued, "Listen, Matt, I know you're doing your best, but..."

"Don't worry, Draco. I admit I wasn't completely convinced that there was some connection between Ginny and Morgan, but I am now. It won't be easy to get the folders, but I'll try harder. I'll bring them to you even if I have to steal them."

"Thank you, Matt."

"That's what friends are for, kid," he responded just before his face faded away in the flames.

Draco stared at the empty flames for a while and when he was about to stand up to go back to his desk. His journey was interrupted when the door opened furiously.

"Malfoy!" Ronald Weasley's enraged voice exclaimed. "What does it mean?" he completed waving a bunch of parchments in Draco's direction.

"Sir, I tried to stop them, I..." the secretary said breathless.

"It's okay, Anne. You may leave. And close the door behind you, please?" he completed.

"Won't you answer my question? Huh?"

"Weasley, if I had any clue of what you're talking about, I would."

"This! I'm talking about this!"

He threw the parchments on the table.

"And what would 'this' be?"

"It's a report," Hermione answered calmer than her husband. "From the analysis of a sample you sent to the laboratory."

"Finally!" Malfoy exclaimed picking the papers. "But what the hell are you doing here?"

"The laboratory notified us," Granger answered before Ron started to yell again.

"The laboratory notified you?" Draco asked, furious.

He was managing to keep calm so far, but that was too much.

"And why the hell did they do that?" Malfoy continued.

The simple idea that his actions were being observed was enough to make his blood boil.

"Why the hell! Why the hell! Honestly, Malfoy! Don't think you'll fool us that easy! And you still have the guts to say that we were trying to steal your case when Sirius's daughter was kidnapped! And the whole time you were supposed to be looking for her; what were you doing, huh? STEALING A CASE THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE OURS!"

"Ron, please..." Mione tried to temporize.

"No! Don't ask me to calm down!" he yelled at Hermione, and then turned to Malfoy, "I've been feeling this rage for you for a long time, you bastard! And this," he said pointing to the report, "was just the last drop!"

"Weasley," Malfoy responded in the most superior and arrogant tone of voice he could. "In case you didn't notice, I have no idea of what the report says. Could I at least read it so that I can understand your pathetic insults better?"

"In brief," Hermione interrupted when she saw that her husband's face looked as if it was going to explode, "It concludes that the sample of sand you sent is a product of a powerful magic."

"And that's why you're making all of this a scandal?"

"It's not just any magic, Malfoy. It's black magic. That's why we were called. Whatever it is, _we_ should be investigating, not you."

"What kind of black magic?" Draco asked forgetting his anger.

The two just looked at each other.

"The substance is the residue... better, the product of a potion..."

"But it can't be! There was a very large amount of this sand. How much potion would one have to make to produce it?"

"Malfoy, this is not about how it wor..." Mione started.

"No! We can't say," Weasley interrupted her.

"I guess Ron is right, Malfoy," Hermione said. "This is confidential."

"Confidential? CONFIDENTIAL! So you come here and insult me without telling what it's about? How do you expect me to tell you anything when you don't tell me a fucking thing?"

"Ah, but you will tell!" Ron responded angrily. "How do you explain having in your hands something so connected to the dark arts, huh? God knows your name is nothing to be respected in this country! You're only there, quiet, because your family lost everything when Voldemort was defeated. _You_ Lost everything! But who can assure us it's not a disguise? Who really knows what you do when the lights go out?"

"Ah, you son of a bitch! How can you have the guts to accuse me of such a thing?

You..."

"Yes, I have the guts because I don't trust you. Never did and never will. My sister did and look what happened to her!"

That was it. That was enough to drive Draco mad, insane. In a quick movement, he went to Weasley's direction, ready to kill him, but smartly Granger put herself between them. No matter how big Draco's rage was, he couldn't attack her. On the opposite of what people believed, he did not beat women.

"I'll kill you, Weasley!" he yelled not being able to reach him. "Sooner or later, I'll kill you!"

"I'm not afraid of you, you shit!"

"Shut up!" Hermione interrupted, yelling. "I don't want to hear a word from either of you until you both settle down. If I do," she continued, pulling her wand, "I'll be obligated to curse whoever opens his mouth!"

"But, Mione..."

"Quiet, Ronald Weasly! I'm serious!" She gave him an iron look.

For a few moments, silence dominated the room.

"Well," she started, "Now that we're all calmer, we can go on."

When Draco heard that, he released a dry laugh that provoked a reproving look from Granger.

"Malfoy, you really need to tell us where you got that sample. The case is in our jurisdiction. We must investigate it. Not you."

"I got it at a crime scene in Scotland," he answered annoyed.

"Scotland? And what the hell you were doing..."

"Ron!" Hermione interrupted him. "Quiet!"

"I was investigating this crime," Malfoy answered giving them the folder with the newspaper cut and the picture of Lindsey.

That was everything the aurors would get from him.

"And why were you investigating this crime?" Weasley started. "What..."

"Because it has something to do with Ginny," Malfoy answered while looking over the newspaper report. "The woman found had a triangle painted on her forehead."

"What!"

"Malfoy, you don't think..."

"I think so," he answered, but he didn't say anything about the other women.

"Well, the case is ours now," Granger concluded closing the folder. "Don't worry. Whatever it is, we'll find out."

"Wow! That'll make me sleep a lot more tranquile tonight..."

"We want to find out what happened just as much as you!"

"I doubt it."

"Malfoy, you..."

"Ron, let's go," Hermione called moving toward the door. "This conversation is over."

"Ah, and Malfoy," Weasley said while holding the knob, "If I find out that you're sticking your nose in our investigation, I'll get you arrested. Who knows now, with our department asssuming the investigation, we'll finally be able to know what happened to my sister, isn't that true?"

After finishing, Ron just had the time to get down when Draco's stone ashtray came flying in his head direction and shattered against the wall.

"Ah, you..." he started stepping foward, but Mione pulled him out and slammed the door, leaving Draco alone with his own demons.

Malfoy was furious. He was so furious that he spent the rest of the day walking from side to side in his office. He stopped just to send a note to Creevey saying that the aurors were around, and kept walking. He was positively furious. He was also tired of the mean insinuations that he had not done everything possible to find Ginny. God knows he would go to hell if there was a clue incriminating the devil. He would do anything. He would change places with her in a minute. He would be capable of anything. And still, he was obligated to stand the jokes and insinuations. It was enraging.

'Though, I must admit,' he thought with a resigned sigh, 'that it's all my fault. If I hadn't...'

He let the thought get lost. In the end, Malfoy always agreed that he deserved that torture. If only he had not been so stupid! But now it was too late. Stupidity had cost him the most precious thing he had.

In all his anger, he barely saw time pass until he realized the office was almost empty. People left, one by one, when they saw he wasn't in his best mood, they did not say good bye. Not that he was complaining. Absolutely not. Probably he would have shot anyone who had spoken to him. No, the way things had happened, he had time to calm down, to think. Finally, more conformed with the situation, Draco gathered his stuff and apparated to his empty home.

In the living room, the darkness greeted him quietly. With a move of his wand, he turned on the lights, and then left his suitcase, his cloak, and his suit on the table. He did not even consider the possibility of cooking something. He was not hungry at all. In that day, more than ever, Draco Malfoy wanted to forget. So, he untied his tie, opened the first buttons of his shirt, left his shoes in the middle of the living room and took a bottle of wine from inside the sideboard. He sat down on the sofa, bringing the bottle with him and staring at it for awhile. Ginny did not like it when he drank. Actually, Malfoy did not have much tolerance to alcohol and used to get drunk easily. That is why she did not like it. It was the same with smoking. He did not stop smoking when she had asked, and Draco did not stop drinking when he usually wanted to. In that day in particular, he really intended to drink until he fainted.

So, he opened the bottle, and, without hesitating, he brought it to his mouth, drinking a big gulp from the neck. He repeated the move two more times and already started to feel the effects of the alcohol. The ceiling of his apartment was no longer static over his head. A few more sips and he could consider himself officially drunk. He was about to bring the bottle to his mouth again when a strident phone ring interrupted him.

He let his arm fall beside the sofa surprised. Would it be Creevey wanting to know details from his meeting with the aurors? Draco considered the possibility while the phone was still ringing, but something was telling him it wasn't Colin. Maybe this 'something' was his own fear, but putting that aside, he knew. He put the bottle on the coffee table and, with no hurry, stood up to answer the phone. His head felt a little 'light' and he cursed himself mentally for drinking. He would need all his senses alert now.

"Hello," he finally said picking up the phone.

"You learned how to answer a phone call correctly, Mr. Malfoy?" the familiar voice said.

"I'll say it once and slowly so that you don't miss a syllable: fuck-you. I don't have any patience for your little games today."

"Is it a touch of alcohol that I'm noticing in your voice?" the voice said in a sarcastic tone. "Not good, Mr. Malfoy."

"Will you make me repeat it?"

"Really, you've had a very dirty-mouth lately."

"It's you who have the talent of waking the best in me."

"Oh, I see the drink didn't affect your thoughts completely. Still capable of giving a smart answer, huh?"

"Look, if you have nothing important to say..."

"I didn't say that."

"So spit it, because as I said, I don't have any patience."

"Yes, I understand. Had a full day, right?"

"What?"

"Your day. I know about your small meeting with two aurors..."

"You bastard! How!..."

"Ah, how! That's the question of the sixty four thousand dollars, Mr. Malfoy."

"No, the sixty four thousand dollar question is: who the hell are you? And what is your fucking connection to Ginny's kidnapping!"

"I can't believe you still haven't deduced that."

"By the way, are you the damned investigator who investigated the other disappearings?"

"Ah, you found out about them, Malfoy! How interesting!"

"Yes, I found out about them: Lindsey Morgan, Hannah Abbott, Emma Dobbs, and Ginny. The question is, what do _you_ know about them!"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"I'm asking, damned! Of course I want to know."

"Well, I know many things. I know, for example, which size they wore. I know the number of their shoes. I still can remember the smell of their hair."

"You wretch!..."

"Especially," the man continued ignoring the interruption, "I know the last words of each one of them."

"You're lying!" Draco yelled at the phone, trying to close his ears, not wanting to believe in what he was hearing.

"Yes, you wished that, didn't you? But I'm not lying."

"You are! You're nothing but a fucking bastard liar! You're no one!"

"I'm the last face your wife saw. I'm the last mouth that touched her lips..."

"I'm going to kill you!" Draco clenched his teeth.

"Do you want to know how she cried? Do you want to know how she begged? How she suffered until everything was finished?"

"I'll KILL you! I swear, I'll..."

"Not that she didn't fight, understand it. No... she fought more than any of them, but it only made things funnier for me."

"You son of a bitch, I'm going to kill you!"

"It won't bring her back, will it?"

"I don't care! Wherever you are, I'll hunt you down till the end of the world if necessary, and when I find you, I'll kill you! I'll finish you. If you think you made her suffer, I'll make you suffer three times more, you wretch! You..."

"First, you'll have to find me, right, Mr. Malfoy?" the other said coldly, almost like a challenge.

"But I'll find you! I'll..." Draco was still yelling at the phone, but it was in vain.

The man had already hung up and he was just yelling at emptiness. Furiously, he threw the phone against the wall. Then, in a tantrum, he took the base off the wall and threw it too. He was out of his mind. Never, in his entire life, had he felt so lost, so groundless, so out of control. The worst of all, however, was the impotence. There was nothing he could do. The same way he could not do anything ten years ago, when Ginny needed him the most. He pushed the table, making it overturn. Then, he kicked the sideboard and broke with his hands the plates and vases that were on it. Finally, still out of control, he threw the bottle against the fireplace, painting the floor in red. He was lost. She was dead and he was alone. When the thought finally seemed to reach a conscious part of his mind, Draco stopped breaking everything. He felt... desolate. He let himself fall to the floor with a sob and crouched in the fetal position. After the first sob, others came, and then Malfoy realized, he was crying desperately. He brought his hands to his face, trying to control his weeping, but it was useless. Finally, he surrended, and let himself stay there.

The blood from the cuts in his hands joined the wine and all the time he muttered to himself, "My God, what am I going to do now!..."

He was really lost.


	7. Chapter 6: The woman in the tree

All Our Yesterdays 

**Translator: **Carol Grissom

**Author: **Flora Fairfield

**Disclaimer: **Characters are not mine, or Flora's

**Beta'd by:** Victoria P.

Chapter 6 – The woman in the tree

"So I try to be like you  
Try to feel it like you do  
But without you it's no use  
I can't see what you see  
When I look at the world"

(When I look at the world – U2)

The first ray of sunlight silently invaded the living room of Draco Malfoy's apartment through the half opened curtain. He blinked repeatedly trying to get used to the illumination. Again, he tried to get lost in his sleep, but he concluded that it was impossible. He took a few seconds to understand what had happened; to understand why he was laying in the floor of the living room, in a weird position, with his hands full of cuts marked by curdy blood. Slowly, he lifted his head, looking around at the place, which was partially destroyed. He noticed the pieces of glass spread on the floor, dangerously near to his body. He saw the coffee table overturned and the objects that usually were on the sideboard, broken. He remembered. No matter how hard he tried to forget, how hard he wanted to pretend that the conversation of last night never happened, he remembered.

He stood up, a little dizzy. His head was spinning and seemed like it would explode, due to so much pain. He knew it had nothing to do with the drink – he hadn't drunk enough for a hang over – but with the fact that for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy had cried himself to sleep. Even his dreams were weird and disturbing. He was always looking for her, but never found her. He woke up with a bad sensation, as if he had not slept for a minute. He was flat.

He walked slowly, trying to keep his balance till he reached the bathroom just to find out that, looking at the mirror, he not only felt flat, but also seemed flat. His face was red and bloated. His hair was pointing at all directions. His shirt was dirty of blood and wine, and his hands were awful. He was the image of desperation.

Closing his eyes, Draco opened the shower and did not waste time in taking off his clothes; instead, he climbed in under the water. He felt it in warm blasts; massaging his back, but the sensation did not provoke any improvement in his spirit. Actually, he could not think of anything that could make him feel better. He just finished the shower, cleaning the cuts, ignoring the pain and the emptiness. He still felt alone and this feeling was entirely new.

He came back to the bedroom, dripping some water on the floor. He did not even notice. He opened the wardrobe and saw his clothes separated. He was not in the mood to wear them. He was not in the mood to do anything. It was like if had died and his body simply wasn't notified officially. He had no idea of how he would go to work today. He did not want to leave his home. He just wanted to lie down in his bed, crouching himself in a small ball and stay like that, without thinking about anything else, hiding from the world.

With a final sigh, he decided that was exactly what he would do. All the anger, the rage, the will, was temporarily forgotten. The only thing left was the killing conscience that she was dead. Now, Draco could understand the desperation of Lindsey's parents. Missing was not worse than dead, because there was still a place to hope. But what kind of hope could he have facing death?

'The hope of killing the bastard who did it,' he thought immediately, but, in his mourning, that was an empty thought, because deep inside he knew nothing could bring her back. There was no consolation to death.

So, Malfoy went to his bed and closed his eyes, trying as hard as he could to forget that there was a world around him. He was so exhausted that he fell asleep almost immediately. He woke up one hour later, to the noise of the alarm clock. He cursed the damn clock mentally and, to complete the tantrum of last night, he threw it at the wall. He let himself fall again over the pillow, trying to go back to sleep, but he thought that if he did not show up in the office without any explanation, somebody would come after him. The last thing Draco wanted was a person looking at the situation of his apartment now. So, fighting to control himself, Malfoy got out of bed and went to his desk, ready to scribble a note to Anne with an excuse and send it by owl. When he approached the table, however, he noticed something that was not there last night. Actually, it was something that had never been there before and should not be there now; a big envelope, white, with his name written in an unknown calligraphy. Somebody got inside his house while he was sleeping to put it there. Somehow, this thought made Draco's mind a little awake from the numbness it was. He couldn't allow that, could he? Nobody had the right of invading his apartment like that! The anger started to fill his chest again and, for the first time, it was a good thing, because if there was something capable of keeping him alive from that moment on; it was anger.

Decidedly, Malfoy grabbed the envelope and took it to his bed, opening it. Its content, however, showed to be a surprise. Draco did not know exactly what to expect. Maybe it was a letter threatening him. Maybe it was a vanglorious letter. Maybe... But definitely, he did not expect to see a map of a park called Gilwell Park. He did not know the place. Never heard of it, so, he deduced it was a muggle place. In the map, there was a place marked with a cruise. And there was a little note, saying: "Want to be sure I say the truth? Look for her in the park, in the marked place. The tree is a big oak. There isn't any like it around."

Trembling, Malfoy dropped the paper on the floor. He looked again at the map, staring at the cruise; the end of the walk, the finish mark. It was all about to be over. That was where he would find her.

His first impulse was to get up, get dressed, and look for the park immediately. When he had put on half of his clothes, though, he realized it was a stupid idea. It could be a trap. He had no idea of where the place was. How would he get in there? How would he take her out of the tree? Under all the aspects, his situation was not good. Especially now that the aurors were watching all of his steps. How could he get the resources needed? It was impossible. He could not do it alone.

Later, Draco put the fault of the decision he took on fatigue, on sadness, on desperation. And he regretted it, of course, but in that moment, he could not see another exit; finishing getting dressed, Malfoy took his wand and apparated right to Ronald Weasley's door. A little hesitant, he raised his hand and knocked lightly.

Without getting an immediate response, he repeated, this time more confidant. A few instants after, he heard the sound of the door being unlocked, and then, he saw Granger's figure holding a child on the opened door.

"Malfoy!" she sort of asked, sort of exclaimed, the surprise evident on her face.

Draco would have enjoyed that if the situation was different, but in that moment, he was not feeling like having fun with other people's uncomforting.

"Good morning, Granger," he said without any malice. "We need to talk."

"Huh... Yes, sure. Come in," she said after a small pause, giving space for him to pass. Inside, Ron's voice could be heard.

"Mione, who is..." he started, but stopped as soon as he reached the room and saw the unexpected visitor. "What-do-you-want-here?" he asked with clenched teeth.

"Ron..."

"No, Mione. Don't start. I want to know what this bastard is doing in my house!"

"Weasley," Draco answered serious, "Believe me, I'm not happy with it at all, but at the moment, you're the only two who can help me. Just for the simple fact that I admit it, you can imagine how serious it is!"

"Is it serious? Or is it a trap? I can't imagine anything serious enough to make you swallow your pride and knock on our door!"

"Weasley, understand one thing about me: I'm a bastard. Even I recognize that, but what you don't know or what you don't want to believe is that I would be capable of selling my soul to the devil in person if he could tell me where your sister is," Draco answered without yelling, with an expression close to desperation in his face.

Maybe it was this image, the image of a Malfoy totally different from the one Ron was used to hate, that made him stay quiet. Would it be possible that he was saying the truth? Weasley had never asked himself that before.

"Do you have any clue?" Mione asked.

"Yes." Draco swallowed dry. "I have what possibly is the location of the..." His voice hesitated. "Body," he whispered. Granger made a face of shock and the blood seemed to vanish from Ron's face.

"How did you get it?" Mione asked.

"It's a long story."

"So, tell it."

"All right," Malfoy responded, sitting down without waiting for an invitation. He knew he would have to start from the start. He would omit only that it was Colin who gave the clue. It wouldn't be interesting that their pact became public.

"Just a minute. Ron, could you take John to the bedroom? The conversation might wake him."

"But, Mione, I want to listen too!"

"Then, Malfoy will wait till you come back! Hurry," she ordered, passing to her husband's arms a sleeping child.

The boy was around three, and was their first child. Draco observed the scene with a huge sadness. He closed his eyes and held his head with the hands, wishing he had a time-turner so that he could go back and do everything different. Hermione examined him carefully while they were in silence, but she did not interrupt him, and for that he was thankful.

As soon as the other came back to the room, they sat down, each one in a different sofa, and looked at Malfoy, waiting.

"So? Will you tell us the long story?" Ron asked impatient.

Draco opened his eyes and, ignoring the disrespectful tone of the other, started, "Well, everything started with the newspaper cut, the one I gave you..."

And he told them everything; told them about his visit to the place, about the body that was missing, and the coroner's conclusions. He told about the missing files; about Lindsey Morgan, Hannah Abbott and Emma Dobbs. He only omitted the hope of getting the original files through Matt. He did not want to compromise O'Brien's position. Finally, he told about the voice on the phone and about the conversation of last night. In many occasions he thought Weasley would not support to listen to him without interrupting. He saw the other almost jumping from his seat more than once, but somehow, he managed to control himself and stood quiet. When they heard about the phone calls, though, it was Granger who couldn't control herself.

"But how could you not notify anyone about it? What an absurd idea! Malfoy, what were you thinking?"

"I didn't know he was the murderer!" he answered defensively.

"But even if he wasn't! We could've recorded the conversations! We could've used a calling identifier! We could've..."

"A what?"

"A calling identifier! It's used to discover the number of the person that called! And, with the number, we can find the address!"

"And how could I guess?" he asked, reluctant in admitting his error.

"You didn't have to guess! It was enough to ask for help!"

"Oh, Granger, please... I'm here only because the situation is desperating. Why would I come before?"

"But, Malfoy..."

"That still doesn't tell me how you know where my sister's body is," Weasley interrupted in a voice extremely controlled. He was trying his hard to keep his nerves under control.

"When I woke up this morning I found this." Draco threw on the coffee table the envelope he had brought, "on my desk."

Ron took it immediately.

"Gilwell Park... Do you know where it is, Mione?"

"Yes," she said changing her seat to see the map and the note. "We have to set up a team immediately."

"I know."

"Also, Malfoy, we have to set an anti-apparating field in your apartment and tap your phone immediately."

"Er... It will be a little difficult, Granger."

"Why?"

"My phone is broken."

"Broken!"

"Yes, Weasley, broken. Stopped working. Wrecked."

"I know what broken is, Malfoy! I just want to know how! After all, it was working fine yesterday, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but since then there has been a little accident."

"Accident?"

"Yes. The wall shocked against it."

"What!"

"I'm not interested in what happened, Malfoy. Just buy another phone! You'll need one. Now, let's go, Ron. You too, Malfoy. You're coming with us to the Ministry because we need your written statement. We just have to leave Johnny at his baby-sitter's first..."

"I'll go to the Ministry and wait for you there, Granger," Draco interrupted her, standing up. Really, he preferred to be spared of more family scenes. "See you soon," he completed, apparating before any of them could stop him.

The bureaucracy was driving Draco insane. Three hours had passed since he arrived at the Ministry and all that time was spent first with the preparations to his statement and then with his statement. Now that he had signed the official declaration, the aurors would start to set the team to go to the Gilwell Park. There was a lot to be done, and Malfoy knew he would have to wait.

So, going to the waiting room, where Granger wanted him to stay until everything was decided, he could barely hold a surprise exclamation.

"What are they doing here?" he asked when he saw through the glass the worried faces of almost all the Weasleys and Potters.

"What do you mean? They're her family too!" Hermione answered. Her husband had stood to organize the team. The least time he and Draco had to stay together, the better.

"But you had to call everybody?" Malfoy couldn't explain why he felt so bothered with that. Maybe all those presences made everything more real.

"Ron and I thought they had the right to know!"

"I'm not questioning that, Granger." He was starting to get angry. "I just think this story is a little precipitated! And if it's all just a false alarm?"

"Do you really believe that's possible, Malfoy?" Mione asked with a sad, but firm voice.

Draco did not answer. Neither could he enter in that room full of red heads that hated him and blamed him. He passed straight by the door and stood in the corridor, a little bit ahead, looking at the window without really seeing the view. He sincerely wanted to close his eyes and pretend it all wasn't more than a misunderstanding, that he hadn't heard those terrible things in the phone yesterday.

He supported his forehead and one of his hands on the cold glass and stood like that, silent and motionless, till losing track of the time. When he was finally interrupted, it was by the last voice he wanted to hear in that moment.

"Malfoy," Harry Potter called him, the indecision was evident in his voice.

"Go away," he answered weakly without turning.

"I need to talk to you." The other sounded a little more decided now.

"But I don't need to talk to you."

"Malfoy, believe me... There's something I need to tell you. Something I should've told before, but... for a reason or another, I ended always postponing."

"Whatever it is, I don't want to hear."

"It's about Ginny."

When Draco heard that, he laughed dryly.

"What isn't about her these days?"

"But this is different. It's about the night of her disappearing."

"You knew about something and didn't say anything?" He turned, finally paying attention. "What do you have in your head? Any information..."

"What I know wouldn't help in the investigation, Malfoy." Potter seemed reluctant in speaking. "But it can help in your life. And I know I should've said before, but I knew you wouldn't want to listen."

"I still don't."

"Well, so cover your ears, because I'm going to say. However imbecile I think you are, I have to tell you for the good of my conscience."

"Fuck your conscience." Malfoy turned to the window again, but was unable to block the other's abhorrent voice, though.

"That night, I was at the Burrow when Ginny arrived."

"I know that."

"What you don't know is that she told me why you argued."

"What?" Draco faced him, surprised.

"She told me everything."

"And you obviously thought I'm a monster."

"Of course yes."

"I know," Malfoy said, the sadness and the regret were clear in his voice. "I thought I was a monster too."

"But you changed your mind."

"Of course I did! What do you think that..."

"No, Malfoy, you didn't understand. That's exactly what Ginny said: that you would change your mind."

"What?"

"I thought you were a bastard, but she did not agree with me. She said she was there just waiting for you to go there and pick her up. She sad that's how you worked: whenever you heard something you didn't like or didn't expect you yelled and kicked out like a spoiled child and said the first thing that came to your mind, independent of how cruel it could be. And then, calmly, you would think again and regret. She wasn't angry with you, Malfoy. She wasn't even sad." Draco stared the floor for a while digesting what Potter had just said. That did not change anything. Everything was still his fault. "I asked her," Harry continued, "if it wasn't a horrible way to live, and you know what she said to me?"

"Obviously not."

"She said she loved you. That was the only answer she gave me."

"It doesn't change anything." Draco stared at him with an empty look. "Everything is still my fault." He turned again to the window.

"If you want to think that way, Malfoy, the problem is yours. I did my part. Don't expect me to stay here trying to convince you," he completed going back to the waiting room, but the other's voice interrupted him.

"You never understood, did you?"

"Never understood what?"

"Why she chose me and not you."

"It took awhile, Malfoy, but I understand it now."

"So explain me."

"It's not needed much to understand. When she disappeared, I... I still liked her, you know that."

"I know." Malfoy shut his wrists, controlling the anger.

"But now, ten years later, I have a family. I have a wife and a daughter." He made a brief pause. "I moved on with my life, but you... You still love her, don't you?"

"There's no life without her."

"Funny."

"What?"

"Those were the exact words Ginny used that night to talk about you."

And with that, Potter turned to enter the waiting room, where the other Weasleys were.

Draco stood still, in front of the window for a while. His mind was working fast. Right when he thought he was ready to explode, Granger came and called him.

"Let's go, Malfoy," she simply said and, with a heavy heart, he followed her. When they found Weasley, though, he looked at them with an ugly face, and said to Mione:

"I still think his place is not with us!"

"The only way for you to stop me is killing me, Weasley."

"That's a tempting offer, you know?"

"Feel free to try."

"Ron, Malfoy, we've already talked about it," Hermione said with a tired voice, a voice of who was tired of all that implication. And then, driving herself to her husband, "He knows he's here just as a watcher, don't you, Malfoy? Nothing of putting your nose on our procedures, nothing of getting involved. You'll go just to watch."

"There's no need to explain again, Granger. I got it the first time you said," Draco replied annoyed.

He'd say anything to go on that team. Once he was in the field, though, he couldn't promise anything. He still had no idea of how he would react seeing her dead body.

"You'd better," Weasley still answered back, clearly distrustful. "It's time to go."

They had managed to get a muggle warrant to close the park. First, they would have to remove any and every person who could be there, so that they could work freely. Thinking in the lightning that was needed to destroy the first tree, Draco could not avoid asking himself what kind of magic would be necessary to break the trunk of that second one. He did not want to think about it. He left all of the practical details to the aurors.

After a part of the agents went ahead of the group to assure there were no muggles around, a second group could apparate right in the park, with no fear of been seen. Draco was in this group. His first impression about the place was that it was a nice place, all green and tranquil. It was almost an oasis. Before he could make any more ideas, though, one of the aurors approached.

"We've already identified the spot marked on the map."

"Where is it?" Hermione asked anxious.

"It's inside the forest. You'll have to follow me," he completed pointing with the head at the entrance of a track that apparently went deep inside the trees.

"Yes, you lead the way," Mione responded and a group of people followed him.

The others stayed to watch the park.

They did not have to walk much, though. Just around five minutes of walking through the small forest and they stopped at what seemed like a huddle of aurors. They were all around a big and solid oak, the only one around that appeared exactly like the note said. Draco felt his stomach churn. While Granger and the others approached, he noticed his feet did not move. Now that he was there, he asked himself why he wanted so much to come. He felt a big knot in his throat. His heart seemed to be shrunken. It was there, the end of the line. The end of everything. The place where he would get the final answer.

Suddenly, Malfoy wished he could be anywhere else in the world. Any place far enough that would take a while for him to get the news. He did not want to know. He wanted to keep on living in the ignorance, looking for her in every redhead he saw in the streets, because at least he would have a reason to live. If she were dead, what would he do? What was left to be done? If he was feeling empty now, how would he feel when he realizes there's no hope?

Turning his back to the oak, Draco tried to think of the time he did not love her, did not know her. She was just another Weasley at that time. An annoying and inferior Weasley who loved Potter just like her brothers. A Gryffindor who thought she was better than everybody. A muggle lover. When did he change his mind? It was hard to say. It was almost impossible to say in which moment she called his attention for the first time. The only thing he knew was that, from that moment on, he was fated to love her. Maybe she had become interesting to him when he found out that Potter wanted her. Maybe this was the reason that made him look at her with covetousness for the first time. If it was, though, it was nothing more than a decoy, because she did not need anything more than her smile to catch a boy's attention.

Ginny Weasley walked carrying on her look the promises of everything Draco never had, and that's what made her completely irresistible. She was annoying and clumsy. She drove him crazy most of the times, but every time – no exceptions – that he let himself get lost in her eyes, Ginny had the amazing capacity of making him believe that everything would end up fine. Draco wished he could see the world as she did. He tried, but he could not. She was his only link to this vision, and without her, he was just that spoiled boy from Hogwarts. It was her who made him special.

Closing his eyes, Malfoy supported his back on one of the trees around and stood in silence, waiting. He did not want to get involved. He did not know if he would be able to talk more than a couple of words with someone in that moment without collapsing. He had started to ask himself something he always tried to avoid; the question in the tip of his tongue since that early morning, ten years ago. He knew he could live without Ginny. The question was: did he want to live without her? Would it be worth it? He knew what she would answer if she were there, which wish would come out of her lips, but who cares? She would also ask him to stop smoking and he did not stop. Actually, there was just one request that Ginny made and he did it, with no restrictions. In that sad afternoon of August, though, supported on that tree, waiting in silence for the veredict about his life, he honestly wished that number were higher.

The hours passed and he avoided looking at the direction of the oak. His legs were tired, but Malfoy refused to sit down on the ground, and, anyway, that fatigue was nothing compared to his mental and emotional exhaustion. It was already dark and he had already took his wand and muttered _"Lumus_" for a few minutes when he finally heard what seemed to be an exclamation of satisfaction coming from the aurors. His heart jumped. The knot in his throat suddenly became tighter and he felt like throwing up.

Unconsciously, his feet started to move toward the group. He could feel his heartbeats accelerating every instant. It was now; the time of truth had come. At every step, it was harder to move on, but it was also more impossible to go back. He knew. He knew, in his soul, that he could not ignore that happening. All his life was on "stand-by" until the moment he would look at the body of that woman in the tree.

Against all the evidences, Draco silently wished that she was not Ginny. He could see Weasley knelt close to the body and Granger standing up beside him. Both were quiet, their faces were impenetrable. Or so, at least, they looked to Draco, who tried every possible way not to read anything negative on them. Finally, he got close enough to see the woman's silhouette. She was lying in the ground, and, around her, the same grey sand that had slid from inside the trunk surrounded her. He approached, holding his breath, and then looked at her.

He saw her young traces parched and contorted, her skin covered by the sand. He felt the almost unbearable smelling of the body, and startled when he noticed her eyes were opened, glassy, lifeless. There was sand on them too, and it was impossible to recognize their color. Actually it would be almost impossible to identify the woman like that, naked and dirty. Only one thing was enough to make him release his breath, finally, relieved; she had blonde hair. The woman had blonde hair! Never, in his entire life, Draco Malfoy felt so happy for marrying a Weasley.

Incapable of putting in words all the emotions that passed through his body in that moment, he turned, departing from the body, and supported himself on the first tree he found. He did not trust his legs that moment. Actually, he trusted neither in his legs, his voice, his ratiocination. The only thing he knew for sure was that it was not _her_. It was not Ginny. Even though it was practically impossible and weak, there was still a possibility of her not being in a tree like that in the United Kingdom, and it was this hope that gave him straight.

Draco closed his eyes, letting himself breath, relieved. The big weight, that was on his heart since the phone call from last night, had finally been lifted.

"What was that?" Ronald Weasley asked as soon as they got back to the Ministry and they were finally alone in a room. "What's your point, Malfoy?"

"What?" Draco asked, not understanding what the other meant. They were still thankful for finding out that the body wasn't Ginny's.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

"Actually, no, I don't know."

"You made us believe that that was my sister's body! I called the entire family here because I believed you, you damned!"

"I believed that that was Ginny's body too! And about calling the family, it was your idea!"

"It doesn't change the fact that it all was useless! The body wasn't hers!"

"And you preferred it to be?" Draco asked, starting to get furious.

"Of course not! And of course I'm relieved it wasn't her. The point is that you took us there, and you were mistaken, weren't you?"

"What are you trying to say? That I knew it wasn't her? That I only took you there for some dodgy and macabre purpose?"

"Exactly."

"Ron..." Granger started in a warning voice, but it wasn't enough.

"No, Hermione, I'm tired of you defending him! You know he's a bastard!" And turning to the Malfoy, "You're nothing more than a bastard, Malfoy! An imbecile bastard and only God knows why my sister chose to marry you! But nothing can take out of my head the idea that you have something to do with this whole story!"

"I don't have," Draco answered sincerely.

"And why would I believe in you?"

"Fuck what you believe in. I don't give a shit. But, as most incredible as it might seem —even I have difficulties in believing— I told the truth to both of you this morning!"

"And I still think you're lying. What could assure us that you really gave up the dark arts, huh? Nothing!"

"Do you think your sister would marry me if I hadn't given up?"

"My sister has a long story of being fooled by dark wizards."

"If you say so," Draco said with contempt in his voice, "than you don't really know her." And he turned his back to him, ready to leave, but he was interrupted by Weasley's voice.

"What could be more perfect to you, huh, Malfoy? After You-Know-Who was defeated, your father was dead and your mother arrested and in Azkaban. Your house set aflame. You lost everything. What would be more perfect than marrying to the daughter of a well-wanted family in the wizarding world and wait... Wait until the appropriate hour arrived so that you could show your real face? What could be more perfect?"

"Weasley." Draco turned to him again. "Of all the requests your sister made me, there was only one that I attempted exactly because she made clear that if I didn't, she would abandon me. Your sister asked me to give up all and every contact I had with the dark arts, including books, people and charms. And I did it. I really didn't intend to give up all the fortune that the Ministry confiscated, but about the rest, I abandoned everything, for her."

"You're lying."

"Believe in what you want to, Weasley."

"It's not a matter of believing, Malfoy. I can proof you're lying."

"How?"

"Your mother. You correspond with her."

"Yes, she does write me regularly. She does it since before my marriage, but I never read any of her letters! I always burn them!"

"Another lie!"

"Weasley, this is really starting to tire me..."

"Yes, it's a lie. And want to know how I know? The mail of Azkaban is controlled. We can't read what the letters say, but we register the senders and the recipients, and you, Malfoy, you've been writing to your dear mom at least once a week for ten years. Exactly the time Ginny's missing... " Draco was dazed with the news. That couldn't be possible, could it? He never wrote to Narcissa! He looked at Granger for some confirmation.

"It's true, Malfoy. We have the records," she muttered.

"But I never... " he started, but then he remembered something that made him stop; he remembered the insistence of the man in the phone for him to pay attention to what his mother was saying. Would it be possible that...? "My God..." he whispered, a weak voice. "My God!... " And left the room without giving any explanations.

That was too important to be disconsidered... Too important. Would it be possible that Narcissa was involved in all that? That she knew what had happened to Ginny and the other women?

Draco's mind was working fast. For what he knew of his mother, he did not doubt that she would know everything. That she would have even helped planning the crimes. Why did the news that someone was corresponding with his mother under his name surprised him so much? It was the perfect disguise! And, if something suspicious was found, he – the son who abandoned her – would be the responsible. He was the perfect sitting duck.

Without stopping home to change clothes or doing anything else, Draco went right to the Department of Magic Transportation. He had to go to Azkaban. He was not interested if the visiting time was over. He was not even interested in knowing if Narcissa could receive visitors. Everything he knew was that he needed to talk to her and he would, even if he had to stay yelling at that prison till someone let him in. He would do anything.


	8. Chapter 7: A day of Emily

All Our Yesterdays 

**Translator: **Carol Grissom

**Author: **Flora Fairfield

**Disclaimer: **Characters are not mine, or Flora's

**Beta'd by:** Victoria P.

Chapter 7 – A day of Emily

John Mathews woke up to the alarm clock ringing. It was six o'clock in the morning and he had to get up to go to work. In the hospital, plenty of patients were waiting. Beside him, his fiancé moved a little, but she did not wake. John was always surprised with her capacity of staying asleep even with all that noise. Delicately, he took a strand of hair from her face that had fallen over her closed eyes; then he kissed her and got up to take a shower. There was no need for Emily to get up so early.

He took almost half an hour in the shower. That was the main reason why John liked to get up early; he took long baths. Then, he dried himself, put on a bathrobe and, leaving his fiancé still asleep, he went downstairs to the kitchen. There, he prepared the breakfast she liked; toasts with strawberry jam, orange juice and milk with chocolate. Emily didn't drink coffee; or tea. He put everything on a tray and went back to the bedroom, where he found her in the exact same position he had left her.

Carefully, John put the food in the empty side of the bed and, turning around, he sat down close to her. He leaned his head and started to lightly kiss her neck.

"Wake up, dozer!" Mathews said softly. "It's time to get up."

Emily still moved a little with her eyes closed, but then she finally opened them, and faced him with a light smile on her lips.

"Good morning, dozer. I brought your breakfast," he said, motioning with his head to the tray.

"Good morning," she answered sleepily, stretching herself. "And thank you."

"You're welcome." He kissed her nose quickly and got up from the bed. He had to get dressed for work.

"You going in at seven today?"

"Yes."

"Won't you be late?"

"You know it's only five minutes to get to the hospital from here," John answered, buttoning the shirt.

"I know, I know." And after a pause, "I only get in at eight."

"I know," he said with a smile. "That's why I let you sleep a little more, dozer."

"Thank you."

"Have lunch with me today?"

"I can't, John."

"Why not? Emily, we have stuff of the wedding to discuss..."

"Today is Thursday. You know I have a consult with Camila. I won't have time to eat more than a sandwich."

"Another consult? But you already had a consult with her on Thursday... "

"It's twice a week. You know that."

"What I know is that she already should've passed you to one consult per week for a long time."

"She wanted. I didn't let her."

"And why not? Emily, I'm getting tired of it. Don't you think you should be more worried about the wedding now?"

"John, you don't understand. I can't simply give up..."

"No, on the contrary. I understand very well. You prefer to waste your time trying to relive the past instead of plan the future. This is always your choice, isn't it?" And with that, he took his suitcase and left, leaving her behind with a lost expression on her face.

Sighing, Emily finished drinking her juice and got out of bed. She knew John was right. She knew it would be better if she forgot everything, gave up and focused on the life they could build together. Still with her head full, she washed her face in the bathroom sink and then contemplated her image on the mirror for a while; a small thin nose, the lines of expression, which were not there awhile ago, the deep eyes and, in the moment, sad.

'It's easier to talk than to do,' Emily thought, remembering everything that she did not know about herself.

Finally, abandoning her image, she got undressed and got into the shower. She took a quick bath. Just ten minutes. Then, she dried herself, put on her bathrobe, like John did before, and left the bathroom.

In the bedroom, she carefully made the bed. She picked up the tray and went downstairs to the kitchen. That was her house. John's house was a bit farther from the hospital, and that's why he used to spend the night there when he had to go to work early. When they get married, though, they would live at his house, which was bigger. It would be more appropriate for when they had children. Thinking about it, Emily could not hold a resigned sigh. Her fiancé was crazy about children and wanted them soon. She, however, had her reservations. She liked children; that was true. It was not the idea of having kids that bothered her, but the idea of having them when she wasn't sure if that was the life she wanted. Having kids would be something definitive. You can leave a husband, but you can not leave a son. She had to be sure before anything.

She finished eating the toasts, washed the dishes and put the jam in the fridge. She went upstairs again to the bedroom and opened the closet thinking in what she would wear. After some indecision, she ended up deciding for a very classic style: a black skirt that reached her knees, a light blue blouse with buttons and a short blazer, also black. In the bathroom, she combed the short hair and put on a little of make up: base, face powder, a light eyeshade, mascara and lipstick. Emily was already a pretty woman without the make up, but she liked it. She was very careful with her looks.

When finished, she took a look at her watch just to see that it was time to go.She grabbed her purse and, going downstairs, left through the front door. She also worked at the hospital, but she was neither a doctor nor a nurse. Emily worked as a social worker. She liked her job. This job allowed her to help people that, in many times, arrived there as lost as she once was, although Emily frequently felt lost.

The sun was shining in the clear, blue sky, despite of the characteristic cold of that morning. In the streets, some people were jogging, while others, like her, going to work. That was a tranquil town and Emily knew all her neighbors very well.

"Good morning, Mrs. Brewster," she muttered smiling at an old woman who was passing with her dog to the opposite direction.

"Good morning, Emily, darling," the old lady said.

For some mysterious reason, those people really liked her, and accepted her. With this thought, Emily could not avoid smiling sincerely. Those people were the ones who made her feel welcome, like being at home. It was they who made everything less hard. And John. She could not start to describe how much he had helped her. Without him, Emily would not know what could have happened to her life.

And that was what made her doubts so unfair. John did not deserve that. He did not deserve a fiancé who was constantly thinking if she was doing the right thing. He deserved a person who loved him with no restrictions. She wanted to be that person. She was trying to be that person, but it was hard, very hard. Not that there was another man more important in her past. No. He was the only one she could remember loving, and still, Emily hesitated. Emily was scared.

While her mind was rambling, her feet took her to the hospital. In the entrance, she said a smiley "good morning" to the receptionist that hid exactly what she was really feeling and went right to her office, in the fifth floor. She was planning to spend most of the day putting her papers in order. The bureaucracy was really a problem and since Emily hated to waste time filling in papers instead of being working, she always ended up, at some moment, swamped by the huge amount of reports she had to do. So, when the situation was critical, she took one or two days dedicated just to doing that, and to doing everything at once.

Arriving in her small room, Emily started to work. There was no sense in waiting. She wanted to finish everything as soon as possible. Around one hour later, however, the phone ring interrupted her. It was a nurse from the emergency ward calling her. In an instant, she abandoned what she was doing and went toward the elevator.

"What happened?" she asked as soon as she found the nurse who had called.

"It's a patient of Doctor Jones. A boy. Come with me," she answered, taking her to the doctor.

"Hi, Ms. Watson," he said as soon as he saw her. "You came quick."

"And was I ever not quick?" she asked with a smile. "But what happened?"

"Take a look at this," he said showing her the radiography of the thorax of a child.

"Do you see the healed fractures over here?" And pointed to one of the ribs. "Here and here?"

"They're old fractures."

"Yes, they were never treated. The ten-year-old boy, his name is James, arrived with an injury in the head. The father said he fell from the stairs."

"But you don't believe that?"

"The Evans moved in nine months ago, and since that, the boy came three times. In the two firsts, the injuries could be considered fallings, but in this... No. The story simply doesn't fit with the injury, and, to complete the predicament, this X-ray shows me the pattern has been repeating for awhile."

"Where are the parents?" Emily asked.

"The mother died in the birth. The father is with the son now."

"Have you talked to the boy?"

"No, not yet."

"Could you take the father out of there so that I can talk to him?"

"Yes, sure. You never doubt my creativity," Jones said with a wink while putting the X-ray back to its place. "Come with me."

Emily followed him to a nursery room. Except for the boy's bed, the others were empty. The father was a big man, tall and massive. The kind of man you wouldn't like to fight to. He was leaned on the son's bed, apparently kind and worried.

"When can we go home?" he asked immediately.

"Soon. Actually, that's why I'm here. You have to fill in some insurance papers, so that I can release your son."

"More than I already did?"

"I'm sorry. I know the bureaucracy is unforgivable, but..."

"I will not leave Jimmy alone!"

"I thought so, Mr. Evans. That's why I brought Ms. Watson here. She works in the hospital and can keep an eye on James for awhile..."

"I'm sure it won't take too long, Mr. Evans," Emily said with a lovely smile. The big man still gave a distrustful look at her direction, but ended up following the doctor out of the room.

As soon as they left, she approached to the bed still smiling and sat down in the edge of it.

"Hello, Jimmy," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Well," the boy answered with a weak voice.

"I'm Emily. You know, I used to help a lot of children like you." Her voice was soft and calm.

"Where's my father?" he asked looking nervously at the door.

"Your father is not here," she said holding his hand lightly. "Don't you want to tell me what happened, Jimmy?" The boy just looked at the window. "Doctor Jones told me you felt and hurt your head. Is that what happened?" James just waved his face in agreement. "Jim, look at me," she asked kindly and waited for the boy to turn his face. "Your father isn't here. He can't hurt you now. And, if you tell me what happened, I won't let him hurt you ever again, do you understand me, Jimmy?"

"It wasn't his fault, please, it wasn't his fault!" the boy started, suddenly agitated.

"Shhh... Shhh... It's all right, it's all right. If it wasn't his fault, what happened, then?"

"It was my fault. Only mine. I'm a very bad boy."

"You're a bad boy, James? Why?"

"Dad has already asked me not to leave my shoes all over the house. He has already said that, but I never obey him. It's my fault."

"What did your father do, James, when he saw you had left your shoes all over the house?" The boy didn't answer. At least not with words, but his look was enough to explain everything.

"Please, Emily, please." The boy was crying now. "It's all my fault. Don't do anything to him. I'm a bad boy..."

"Shhh..." she muttered, holding him tight. "You're not bad, James. You're not bad. And the fault is not yours. Not yours, do you hear me?" She kept repeating until he calmed down. Finally, James stopped crying and she released him. "I'll be right back, okay?" she said, leaving the room for a minute. At the reception, she called the police and then came back, bringing two security guards from the hospital with her, but when she arrived at the door, she found James already with his jacket and the father pulling him by his arm.

"We're getting out of here!"

"Mr. Evans, you can't..." Dr. Jones tried to stop him, blocking the way. "The exams..."

"You're lying! We're leaving." He started to move toward the door, but then he saw Emily with the security guards. "Ah, you bitch!" he said and went toward her, but the two men held him.

"I'm putting your son under the custody of the Social Service," she said picking up the boy, who was crying compulsively, in her arms. "The police should be here soon," she completed while the security guards took him away. The whole time the man stood yelling names and threats to her while the boy cried, calling for his father in her arms.

Finally, Mr. Evans was taken away and Emily put James, still yelling and kicking out, on the bed.

"I want my father! It's your fault! It's your fault! I want my father!"

"James..." She still tried to calm him down, but the boy simply kept kicking and yelling.

"I'll take care of him," the doctor said, holding him against the bed. "You can go." And after a brief pause, "There are some days in which we really hate our jobs, aren't there?"

"Yes. And it's not even lunch time, Jones," she answered, irritated, before finally leaving the nursery.

That situation should be simple. There was the right and the wrong, the black and the white. There shouldn't be doubt. And there wasn't. That didn't mean, however, that it was simple. The abusing father was the only family the child knew, and the boy was caught to it with his entire straight. It was not easy to understand, but that's the way it happened. Nothing in life is simple. And it was in times like this that Emily wished she lived in a better world; a much better world. With a resigned sigh, she took the elevator and went back up to her room. One more case to deal with. Jones really was right. She could really love her job, but in days like this, she hated it. She sat down quiet in her chair and supported her elbows on the table, taking her hands to her face. In the next couple of hours, she made little progress with all her papers. There were so many things in her head! A lot more than a case like that. She had a lot to think about, a lot to decide about and could not avoid asking herself the most obvious questions.

A little before eleven-thirty, she stood up and left the room. It was almost in time for her consult and, who knows, Camila could help her finding some light over her doubts. Deep inside she did not believe that, though. The doctor had the unpleasant habit of never giving her direct answers. If they had not become so close friends, Emily would have looked for someone else for a long time.

When she arrived for the consult, she had to wait some minutes until another patient left the room. But it didn't take long, though, and she saw the smiling face of the doctor in the door, calling her.

"Hello! How's our little bride?"

"Getting her feet cold..." Emily answered, sort of kidding, sort of serious.

"Really? I thought the cold feet were gone when you decided to accept the proposal."

"But they keep coming back..."

"Want to talk about it?" Camila asked, sitting down in her armchair and waiting for the other to sit down in the small sofa.

"Does it make any difference if I say I don't want to?"

"After your initial statement, no. You've already made me curious and worried. What is going on, Emily?"

"I don't know... You know..."

"No, if you don't know, who am I to know? I think you'll have to explain me."

"I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of committing to huge mistake."

"And why do you think that?"

"It's that sensation of always... I can't avoid asking myself if there's something else for me outside there... If John is really the best I can get... Don't get me wrong. He's so sweet. I don't know what I would be doing now if he hadn't showed up in my life, and this is the worst part. I feel guilty for having these thoughts..."

"John helped you, yes, it's true, but you owe him nothing for that, Emily."

"I owe him my life."

"But this is not a debt you can pay getting married to him without loving him just because he loves you."

"And who said I don't love him?"

"Wasn't that what you just said?"

"No, it wasn't. I only ask myself if there's someone I can love more than I love John. Someone I can love unconditionally. No doubts... Someone I simply know is the right person..."

"Isn't it every woman's dream? Every person, actually?"

"The problem is I can't stop thinking that this someone... this imaginary man exists really for me... I _know_ he exists... And I know John is not him."

"Don't get married, then."

"Shouldn't you be saying me it's all bullshit of my head? That everything I'm feeling is normal fear that every bride feels?"

"I'm not here to tell you how you're feeling, Emily. You have to figure it out by yourself. Now, if you tell me you're so sure that John isn't the right person for you, then I only can advise you not to get married. Having doubts is normal, but if you have doubts..."

"It's not that..." the other said standing up and going to the window.

"What is it, then?"

"It's hard to explain."

"I'm all ears," Camila said. "After all, you're paying me for that."

Emily laughed, though she did not want to.

"I feel as if I was living a liae that isn't mine. As if _my_ life was somewhere else out there, waiting for me."

"This couldn't be a way of you telling me that there are things you'd like to do with your life and that you're not doing now? We all feel like that in some moments."

"No, I'm not speaking metaphorically. You know that. I'm speaking literally. Have I searched enough? Have I tried enough?"

"Is that why you're afraid of getting married?"

"Yes. Marrying to John would be the same as accepting this is my life and I don't know if I'm ready to do this."

"I thought you had been over this fear."

"Me too, Camila, me too. When I accepted his proposal, I thought I had left everything behind, but now... everything's coming back, you know what I mean?"

"I do."

"And at the same time, I can't do it to John. He doesn't deserve it."

"Emily, there's a big difference between gratefulness and love. You know that, don't you?"

"I love him."

"Are you sure?"

"If you asked me to list all the qualities I'd like to find in a man, we would get to the conclusion that John has practically all of them! There's nothing in him to make me not love him!"

"That doesn't mean much. And you didn't answer my question."

"How can you say something like that? I mean, if he, with all those qualities, isn't capable of making me happy, then who is? What are my chances of finding someone who is? There aren't two Johns in the world."

"Maybe you don't want another John."

"He loves me, Camila. Loves me more than anything. Only God knows why."

"This too is another bad reason for marrying to him."

"I know. He deserves someone who loves him the same way and, believe me, I'm trying."

"You're trying?" The doctor could barely hide a smile. "Emily, this is not the way things work. Either you love or you don't."

"It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is. Other things in life may be complicated, but this is not: you don't try to love someone. You love. You might even see him every day for years without loving him and, in one moment, you find out you love him, but still, you find out, you don't try. It's not something you can control."

"I don't know if I'm strong enough to do it to him."

"Do what?"

"Destroy all his dreams, all his plans for our life! How can I do it after all he..."

"And we're back to the gratefulness!"

"Don't speak like that."

"I'm not speaking. I just think you should feel exactly like he feels about these plans. After all, it's your future too. You might have doubts about the wedding, but thinking about the life he will give you doesn't make you happy? Excited? Butterflies in your stomach?"

"No. It only gives me a knot in my stomach of fear of not satisfying his expectations."

"Are you sure this is the reason for your fear, Emily?" Camila asked, but the other didn't answer. She just turned to the window again and supported her forehead on the cold glass. She knew that was not the only reason.

Yes, she had this fear of not corresponding to his expectations, but this fear came from her own certainty of not being able to be the woman he loved; of loving him like he deserved. She did not know if she would be able of being happy taking the life he planned.

"Why the hell does everything have to be so complicated?" she said finally, with eyes still closed, without getting back to the sofa. "Why can't I simply love him?" she thought to herself. In some way, she knew what would be the right thing to do. She just still did not know if she would have the guts to do it.

During the rest of the time of the consult with Camila, Emily practically didn't say anything. What would it help? She had already said what she had to, and also had heard what she did not want to. What to do now? That was the problem.

She came back to her room with the intention of only grabbing her things to go eat a sandwich. She was hungry. As soon as she passed through the door, though, as it was just waiting for her to arrive, the phone rang.

"Hello.. What... What happened, Jane? Speak slowly... My God!... All right. Don't worry... I'm coming." And then she hung up the phone and left toward the elevator. The sandwich could wait.

As soon as she arrived in the top floor, she found the young lady who had just called her in the corridor, standing in front of a room's door, as if deciding if she should or not get in. Emily approached slowly, without the other noticing her, and put her hand lightly on her shoulder. Jane turned immediately and, recognizing her, took one of the hands to the mouth trying to hide her crying and hugged her.

"He's dying... He's going to die..." she muttered.

"Shh... I know, my darling." Emily hugged her back, whispering into the other's ear, like a mother would do. "It's all right. Everything's going to be all right."

"No, it's not. He's dying," the other answered in tears. "I mean," she completed, departing and picking a tissue to dry her face. "I knew this was going to happen... I thought I was prepared, but now..." Her voice got lost in the middle of more tears.

"You're never prepared enough for something like this, Jane. Never," Emily answered, hugging her again.

"But I thought I was, and now I don't know...I don't know if I can handle it... If I can stand beside him..."

"You won't have to do it alone. I'm here to help you, okay?"

"Will you stay with me?"

"For all the time needed."

"Thank you."

"Don't worry," Emily answered, facing the other in the eyes. "Don't you want to come in now? I'm sure he needs you."

"I know that." Jane started to dry her face again. When she thought she was reasonably presentable, she continued, "Let's go, then?"

"Yes, let's go." And both of them entered through the door into the room of a man who was dying of cancer.

Mr. Patrick was at an advanced age, but he was one of the loveliest persons that Emily knew. He and his daughter, Jane, had spent a lot of time in the hospital in the last few months, fighting against the disease and that's how they all got to know each other. The younger was nothing more than a young girl – she was only twenty – and her father was the only family last to her. Under all aspects, that would be a very, very sad afternoon...

Emily spent most of the time watching. Watching how they were related, how they loved each other. How Jane was careful when she had to change her father's position or give him something to drink or eat. How Mr. Patrick worried in assuring his daughter that everything would be all right, in telling her that he loved her. She would like to know what that was like, that so innocent and at the same time so powerful between parents and sons. She'd like to remember her father.

'But this day isn't about me,' she reproved herself mentally. She knew she wasn't there to think about her own unhappiness, but to help Jane, who surely needed as much support as she could get until that day was over.

Around five in the afternoon, he passed; peacefully, as if he had just fallen asleep. Emily stood with Jane for a while. Since that death had been announced for a while, practically everything was prepared, and there wasn't much left to be done.

Finally the young girl decided to go home, assuring she would be fine, that she didn't need company. After Jane left, though, Emily still stood in the room, alone, looking through the window for a long time. She was awaken from her reveries only when John's familiar hand caught her by her waist, hugging her tight.

"I heard what happened," he said softly.

"Mr. Patrick died around five."

"I know. Jane has already left?"

"Yes. She wanted to be alone, but I think I'll pass by later. Just to check how she is."

"Sorry I didn't pass here before. I just found out now."

"It's okay. Just because I'm having a hell of a day , doesn't mean you have to have one too."

"The kid from the morning, right?"

"Did you talk to Jones?"

"I met him during lunch."

"I hate cases like that."

"Don't we all?"

"Ah, but today was a really special day," Emily said, ironic. "I saw two families being destroyed in less than twelve hours."

"There was nothing you could do. The father beat his son and Mr. Patrick... Well, people die. Better than no one, we know that. We work in a hospital!"

"I know."

"What I can't stop thinking is that I contributed for your day to be so horrible, starting with my attack this morning," he said after a pause, finally turning her to face her. "I'm sorry, Emily."

"It's fine. You have some reason in all that."

"No, I had no reason. It's very unfair of me to want you to simply give up, stop asking. I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

"No, it's not. Emily, the only reason why I reacted like that today is that, well, is that I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of losing you. You think I don't know?"

"Know what?"

"I knew I would lose you for this life, this world, that we don't even know, in the blink of an eye. I always knew. That's why I'm afraid."

"John..." Emily started, without really knowing what to answer ahead of this declaration, but he interrupted her.

"No, don't say anything, my sweetheart. Don't say anything." And he kissed her softly in her lips. "This is my problem and I should deal with it. I know it's not your fault," he completed so delicately that the tears she was holding inside from the beginning started to drip.

"Oh, John, I'm sorry... I'm sorry," she muttered passing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he whispered, passing his hands through her hair and kissing her head. "You don't have to be sorry." And then, releasing her a little so that he could see her face, started to dry the tears in her cheek with his fingers, changing the subject.

"Camila told me you guys are going out."

"Yes."

"Are you still going?" As an answer, she shaked her head affirmatively. "You should really. It'll make you feel better."

"But Jane..."

"Don't worry. You go out with Camila and have some fun. If you're so worried about Jane, I'll pass by to see how she is, okay?"

"Okay," Emily answered, finishing to dry her face.

"You'd better go now. Camila is already waiting for you in your room."

"She hates to wait."

"Exactly." He kissed her one more time. John stood in the empty room while Emily went to the bedroom first to wash her face and then went to her room, where she found Camila starting to get angry because of the long wait. The doctor calmed down a little, though, when she explained what had happened, then both of them left the hospital.

It was already dark, but the streets were well illuminated by lampposts. The town was pretty pleasant and Emily liked to walk, so they went walking a few blocks till reaching downtown.

"Oh, there's a store I want to see," she remembered when they passed by a street where the commerce was still opened.

"What kind of store?"

"Of bride dresses."

"What? Emily," the other made her stop, "after all we've talked this morning, I thought this would be the last thing in your head now."

"I know, but... Ah, damned! Here, you're my friend, not my doctor, so don't argue."

"But it's exactly as your friend that..."

"No 'buts'. Please, Camila, I really don't want to think about it now." And she dragged the other, crossing the street to the showcase of the store. After a few minutes watching, she decided to enter to talk to the saleswoman. It was in the exact moment that she extended the hand to open the door that she felt.

First, she thought it was her friend pulling her by her elbows, making her turn, because she thought she shouldn't be buying a bride dress without being sure she wanted to get married. She should've realized, however. She should've known that Camila wasn't strong enough to pull her that way and that, even if she was, she wouldn't do that so brutally. No, it wasn't Camila who had pulled her. And Emily didn't take long to realize that when she faced two big gray eyes watching her, goggled, surprised, absolutely bemused. There was something more in that look, though, than simply surprise. There was recognition, and relief, and love.

"My God, Ginny, it's you!" the man whispered in a way that she could barely hear.

"It's you!" he repeated, his eyes suddenly invaded by a huge feeling of happiness and, in the following moment, Emily saw herself being hug so tight, but so tight, that she thought she would not be able to breathe. She knew that was insane. The part of her brain that remained coherent was yelling to her to get rid of the hug, ask for some explanation, but, in that moment, Emily could not find the guts – or the will – enough to do so. No, in that exact moment, Emily felt... home. As she couldn't remember feeling like before.


	9. Chapter 8: Incessant search

All Our Yesterdays 

**Translator:** Carol Grissom

**Author: **Flora Fairfield

**Disclaimer: **Characters are not mine, or Flora's

Beta'd by: Sidney - hathor x Chapter 8 – Incessant search 

The sea extended out into the dark; grizzly and billowy. The rogue waves crashed into the ferry, making it tilt up and down, like the rhythm of a mysterious song. In the sky, the sun was shining weakly within big and ugly clouds. Standing up, with his arms crossed, Draco Malfoy observed the tail left in the water with stormy eyes. It was cold. He was precipitated enough to start the trip without bringing a coat and now he was paying the price for his imprudence. At that moment though, with so many things more important to consider, the temperature was the least of his worries.

Getting the pass to go to Azkaban Fortress wasn't hard. His frustration didn't start until he found out that the next ferry to the island would only leave in the morning. Draco ended up spending the night in a small and uncomfortable hotel by the seaside. He didn't sleep. Who could close their eyes after such a revealation? No, Draco Malfoy wouldn't have a minute's rest until he found out how his mother fitted into the scheme. That was the question that annoyed him above anything else.

Turning around for the first time to face the same direction as the ferry, he saw the rocky and sad island approaching more and more. He had never been to Azkaban before. He hadn't known it while the dementors had kept it, and he hadn't visited it after they were removed. They had joined Voldemort during the last war and the Ministry had finally decided to dismiss them. Wizards, most of them aurors, now watched the prison. The security measures were extremely severe. Draco's wand had been confiscated before he got on the ferry, and he would be frisked again after landing. He couldn't carry any kind of magical object with him. He couldn't even bring a piece of parchment, under the allegation that it could be used to pass secret messages to the prisoners. Animals weren't allowed in Azkaban, because they could be unregistered Animagi, and the fortress was watched and protected to prevent any wizard visitor from transforming himself. The prisoners were obliged to ingest a daily potion that inhibited their magic powers, so that, even if they did steal a wand, they wouldn't be able to cast more than a simple _Lumos_. People couldn't apparate. Port-keys didn't work and there were no fireplaces. Charms protected the sky – so no broomsticks could approach – and the sea – repelling non-authorised boats. Any clandestine craft that approached the island ended up lost and its crew was affected by a really strong Confundus charm. The Muggles were starting to refer to the island as a second Bermuda Triangle.

A thin fog mixed with the haze around the rocks, giving the island an ethereal appearance, almost from another world. It was early – the sun hadn't risen yet – and it was cold. The day was to be gray like Draco's eyes and, also like them, a storm was coming. Arms crossed, erect standing, face closed. With the daybreak, Malfoy was the very image of tension. He couldn't get rid of the unpleasant images that came to his mind these last two days. Even there, in the only mean of transportation that could bring him to his mother – a Muggle-looking ferry, that didn't carry more than three passengers that silent morning – he could close his eyes and see the golden hair of the dead woman. The initial relief he had felt, that it had not been Ginny's body inside the tree was now replaced by fear of finding her in another lonely tree, somewhere in the UK. Was she really dead? Draco's heart wanted to answer no, but his brain recognized the possibilities. Could his mother throw some light at this mystery? The answer was about to come.

The land was now close and the outline of the prison's fortress was clear and sharp. A few more minutes and the ferry anchored in the small pier. While unboarding and being frisked, Draco couldn't get rid of the sensation of walking towards his past. Behind those thick walls were imprisoned lots of figures from his childhood. His father had died, that's true – murdered by Mad-Eye Moody in a moment of huge stupidity – but others had survived. Right after his death, Potter had destroyed Voldemort and the real hunt of the Death Eaters had started. This time, simple allegations like being under the Imperius Curse weren't accepted. The Ministry was determined to arrest all of those involved with Voldemort. Many of them had died fighting or running away, but many of them were caught. Crabbe and Goyle's parents were in Azkaban. Pettigrew, on the other hand, was dead. Karkaroff was dead too – Voldemort was responsible for that. The only Death Eater that remained free was Snape, for obvious reasons. Draco couldn't avoid smiling thinking that the professor was still frightening the first-years at Hogwarts – especially the Gryffindors. However, while passing through the huge doors to the interior of Azkaban Fortress, his thoughts inevitably came back to his dear mother.

Many people had asked themselves what Narcissa had done to deserve a death sentence in Azkaban. Just few knew that she was the perfect pair to Lucius Malfoy since the beginning. Both completed each other. She was at the same time his accomplice and confidant. When her husband died, Draco remembered very well going to her, asking her to cooperate with the Ministry. At that time, he was already in love with Ginny. His mother had never been a Death Eater. She could allege being under the influence of her husband and remain convincing. They would have escaped undamaged and Draco could have re-built the old Malfoy's name. Narcissa, however, knew the real reasons behind her son's request. She knew he was in love with a Weasley and when he said 're-building the old Malfoy's name', she knew he was actually saying 'denying the old Malfoy's name'. She couldn't allow that. Couldn't let her house, her honor being blurred by the presence of a poor Muggle-lover. She couldn't open the doors of the mansion and give all the secrets of the family to the Ministry. So, Narcissa did the only thing she judged to be right.

In a hot night of summer, she prepared the mansion and started the fire. Draco barely escaped alive. His house – the house of his childhood – burnt for three entire days before extinguishing completely. Everything was destroyed. A little after that, Narcissa was arrested. She confessed her crimes and described how a big part of the family's fortune had been made through illegal means. The Ministry confiscated the money and to her, this was a small price to pay to see her son in misery. The son she had raised with all her love and all the petting and that, in the end, had denied everything his parents had taught him. He deserved to suffer.

Narcissa was judged, convict and sentenced with no mercy. In Azkaban, she would live her last days and Draco couldn't be more satisfied with the idea. He hated her with conviction and blamed her mostly for the humiliations he had had to suffer. If he had the money, he could have at least stepped on the people standing around him, but because of her, he was obliged to face everything. She was guilty, and even without his promise to Ginny, Malfoy didn't think he would want to keep any kind of relationship with 'that woman', as he liked to call her nowadays. And still, despite all his hate, he was at that moment ready to do what he had never imagined himself doing before: ask for her help. No matter how much he grudged, no matter how much it hurt to swallow his pride, if Narcissa could help him find Ginny somehow, Draco would even be capable of begging her.

All these thoughts and memories crossed quickly his mind during the long walk through the well-illuminated corridors of the prison. The walls were made of stone, thick and massive, making the place cold and a bit humid. There were no windows, but well positioned torches illuminated the passages with a flickering light. After two sets of stairs, Draco was finally conducted to what seemed like an interrogation room. It wasn't exactly a visit room – its look was austere and uncomfortable – and had a chair also of stone in a corner. It was similar to the judging rooms of the Ministry, with its chains ready to catch the prisoner who would be sitting on it. And in the other corner of the room, in front of the chair, there was a stone table and a second chair, smaller and more comfortable. Silently, Draco sat and waited.

After a few moments, the door was opened and his mother passed through. She was wearing the prison uniform – gray, ugly and shabby. Her hair, which was once blonde and thin, was now practically gray, but it kept its clean and well-cared appearance. The beauty of her face hadn't disappeared completely. It was just a little smeared by the years in jail, by the wrinkles and the severity of her expression. The majesty, though, was still there, on the surface, ready to emerge whenever would be necessary.

Narcissa entered serious and with her nose reared up. The wizard who had brought her took her to the chair and then left the room. The chains didn't catch her because her hands were already tied. The whole time, Draco attempted to observe her with an indifferent look. When they were finally left alone, he stood silent facing her. She was the first to open her mouth.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, my son?" Narcissa asked with a lovely smile. Malfoy knew, though, that there was nothing of lovely in her behavior.

"It came to my ears," he started after a brief pause, wanting to go straight to the point, "that you've been receiving letters from me, here in Azkaban. I thought this was particularly interesting, mum, considering the fact that I've never sent any letter," he completed, his voice full of irony.

"Yes, it's true. There's a person who sends me letters using your name," she replied, without taking off the smile on the face.

"Who?"

"I tried to warn you, son," Narcissa said, ignoring his last question. "But you've never read any of my letters."

"How do you know that? The fact that I've never answered them doesn't mean I've never read them."

"No, you would've come here immediately if you had opened the first letter, exactly as you're doing now. I'm sure of that."

"Why? What did they say that was so important?"

"They were about the man who writes me using your name."

"And what's so interesting about him?" Draco was starting to lose his patience.

"He started to write to me five years ago. It was about the same time I started to write to you, wasn't it?"

"Yes, one letter per week."

"And haven't you found it strange? So many years without news and then suddenly a letter from nowhere..."

"Honestly, I had more important things to worry about."

"Yes, I know. Your dearest wife, isn't it?" Narcissa said, using a clearly derogatory tone of voice. Draco started to feel his blood boil.

"Don't speak of her. She's too good for you to mention her."

"Don't you mean _was_?" Malfoy closed his eyes for an instant and took a deep breath. He wouldn't let her drive him mad.

"Let's go back to the letters. What was their subject?"

"Your dearest wife," she said and Draco wasn't really surprised. He was expecting something like that.

"Do you know what happened to her?"

"I know more than that, my son."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Don't you want to know who was writing to me first?"

"Fuck who was writing to you! I want to know what you know about Ginny!"

"Ginny? Was it her name?"

"You know that, yes."

"No, I don't. I just remember her as a Weasley with a vague expression and second-hand robes."

"Mother..."

"Don't start to get angry at me, my son. What I said is the truth and if you chose to deny it, well, it's not my fault. God knows I did as much as I could to raise you correctly. Tell me: what have your father and I done wrong? Haven't we given you enough gifts? Haven't we given you enough attention? What was it?"

"Nothing. You did nothing wrong."

"I refuse to believe that. We raised you for years. Years and years. And then comes a stupid girl..."

"She's not a stupid girl!"

"And then comes a stupid girl, who simply turns up your mind! It's obvious we've done something wrong! Otherwise, you would've laughed at her, perhaps used her and then abandoned her, but you wouldn't have made her your wife. Wish I had sent you to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts!"

"I'm not here to discuss my marriage."

"No, you're here to take all the useful information from me, then leave me in this end of the world for another ten, twenty, thirty years, right? Well, dear son, this is not the way things work."

"You know very well that I have no authority to take you out of here."

"Yes, I know that, but still, the information you're looking for has a price."

"I don't even know if you really have the information or if you're just bluffing. I don't even know what _is_ this information!"

"I know where she is. Isn't it what you want to know? I know where your dearest wife is. Not her body, a cold and lifeless body, but where she really is, breathing and with her heart beating."

"You're just saying what I want to hear," Draco replied, but he couldn't avoid the wave of emotion that passed through his body. He didn't dare blink, fearing that it was all just a dream and that he would wake up alone in his bed for another hopeless day.

"Actually, no. I'm telling the truth."

"Prove it."

"I can't prove it from here. You'll have to find her to believe me."

"How did you find out where she is?"

"The man who sends me the letters told me."

"Who is he?"

"He's the man who kidnapped her in first place."

"And why does he write to you? If I find out you have something to do with it..."

"Oh my, spare yourself Draco. Don't waste your time. He started writing to me because he was curious about you."

"About me?"

"Yes, about you. He told me what he had done, and wanted some information about you."

"Why?"

"Aren't you capable of guessing? He wanted to know how to hit you."

"He took Ginny to hit me?"

"Now you're being a little too presumptuous, isn't that right? The world doesn't spin around you, son."

"And why didn't you simply help him?"

"And who said that's not exactly what I did?"

"You started to write to me right after that!"

"Yes, but just because I thought it would be advantageous. I started to ask myself what my dear son would be able to do to have his dear wife back." She paused a little. "Tell me, Draco, how far are you willing to go?"

"That doesn't make sense. Two women are dead. He kidnapped Ginny. Why would he kill the others and keep her alive, knowing exactly where she is? Why not finish the job?"

"Just because you don't understand, doesn't mean there's no sense. It could just be beyond your comprehension."

"Where is she?"

"No, no." Narcissa kept a smile. "I've already said that: this information has a price."

"What is it?" Draco asked between clenched teeth.

"A favor."

"Which favor?"

"Well, I don't know yet. I help you now and you owe me a favor. Whenever I need it, I ask you."

"Let's see if I got this straight: you know where Ginny is and, in exchange, you just want me to owe you something?"

"Yes. Obviously, I don't trust your word. I want a magical contract, but, in general, you got it."

"Under one condition," Draco said after a small pause. "The contract has value only if I find her safe. The same Ginny I lost. And only in the case that I find her with your instructions. If what you tell me shows up to be bullshit..."

"Oh, all right, all right. I accept it."

"So tell me: where is she?"

"Not before you seal the contract," Narcissa replied. Malfoy stood up in front of the table. He faced his hurt hands for a second, contemplating what he was about to do. He had said he would be able to sell his soul to the devil if that helped him to find Ginny, but he had never thought he would really get to the point of doing it. Finally, resigned, he started to nudge with his nail one of the cuts in his left hand. Soon, the blood started to flow, bringing pain. Without stopping to think, Draco extended the arm and let a few drips fall on the ground while muttering the right magic words. After the third drip, Narcissa interrupted him.

'That's enough."

"Great. Will you tell me where she is now?" he asked, pulling back his hand and putting on some pression with a tissue to stop the bleeding.

"She's in Scotland."

"Don't you think that's a bit vague?"

"Look for a small town called Harmony Springs. It's close to where the first body was found."

"Harmony Springs..." Draco repeated for an instant, immersed in his own thoughts.

The name was strangely familiar. And then, remembering where he was, "Well, it was a pleasure making business with you. See you never again." And he turned to the door, but before he could open it to call out for a wizard to bring his mother back, Narcissa interrupted him.

"Never again no, my dear. Just until the day we get even."

Ignoring her, Malfoy pulled the knob. He tried to block the threat in his mother's voice, but it was impossible. The threat was there and couldn't be forgotten. "I'll worry about it later," he repeated to himself during all the way back to the pier. He knew he would pay the price, but if it would at least bring Ginny back, he would pay the consequences.

Draco stopped the car on the roadside. He opened the door, got out and unfolded a map over the hood. It was already the afternoon. He had left Azkaban as soon as he had finished talking with Narcissa and, as quickly as possible, he went to Edinburgh. He asked Anne to send him an owl with a picture of Ginny that he kept in a drawer of his desk and, a floo powder trip and rented car ride later, he was again in the middle of nowhere and not too sure which way to go. He recognized these roads. It really wasn't far from Erick McDermontt's farm, but he had to leave the main road and now, he wasn't sure if that would be the right way.

He consulted the map for some minutes, cursing all the muggles who were born because of their incapacity of making practical means of transportation and, finally, he came to the conclusion that he was in the right road. He got in the car again and went back to driving. There were no other vehicles in the road. When he finally arrived in Harmony Springs – he was sure he had already heard that name somewhere! The sky was starting to give the first signs of a sunset. Another hour and a half maybe of daylight, but no more than that. He hanged around a little in the main street refusing to ask where the police station was. Finally, he found it. Parking the car, he got out of the car, bringing the picture with him and taking a good look around.

The town wasn't that small, but it couldn't be called a big city. It was well cared and pleasant, with trees in the smaller streets. He could perfectly imagine Ginny living in a place like this. It would be exactly what she would look for. But if she was really alive and here, if she was really okay, why had she never looked for him then? Draco couldn't stop asking himself that. He tried to avoid it, tried not to jump to conclusions, but the doubt was still echoing in his mind. The idea of her passing the last years hiding from him was absurd and, at the same time, absolutely terrifying.

Putting these unpleasant thoughts aside and trying to remember that with some luck he could soon have her in his arms, Draco entered the police station. There was some movement and a few policemen coming and going. He approached the reception and identified himself, asking to talk to the sheriff. In instants, an official took him to a room on the second floor of the building.

"Good afternoon," the sheriff said, extending a hand. Draco shook it quickly and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the other's desk.

"Good afternoon," he replied.

"We don't get much visits from the government's investigators. Especially when they're not coming directly from London. Is there some problem?"

"No, nothing new. Actually, I'm here because of an old missing person case."

"Missing person? Is it in your jurisdiction to investigate that?" Malfoy was starting to get irritated.

"This is a special case. And besides, my interest isn't just professional. Now, if you can help me..."

"Sure. Whatever you need."

"Good. The missing person is a woman. She disappeared ten years ago, when she was twenty two."

"Ten years ago?" The sheriff leaned back in his chair, his expression revealing something.

"Yes, why? Does it mean something to you?"

"Maybe. Tell me, what does this woman look like?"

"I brought a picture with me," Draco said, without taking his eyes off the man as he picked out Ginny's picture in his suitcase and put it on the table. "It's a picture from the time she went missing."

The xeriff took it and immediately a shade of recognition passed his eyes. He knew her! Malfoy's heart started to beat faster in his chest.

"You know her," he affirmed.

"Yes. We don't have too many cases like this around here. What's her name?"

"You don't know her name?"

"Well, I don't know her real name."

"What do you mean 'her real name'?" Draco asked without understanding it. The sheriff stood up and opened the drawer of a big file that was in his room. He took out a folder.

"This is all the data we have about the case. The poor woman arrived in a pitiful state."

"What do you mean?" he asked while opening the folder, but what he saw made him want to close it. There was a picture of her, of Ginny there, probably taken when she had reappeared and her face was full of injuries and wounds. That simple image filled Draco with a renew wave of rage against the bastard who had caused all of it and he silently swore that, no matter what, he would find him and kill him. The sheriff realised his backwardness in checking the file.

"It's not a very pretty case, this one. Not for those who don't have stomach."

"How did she end up here?" Draco asked, ignoring the fathersome voice.

"She came running from the woods to the road, the one you passed to get here. She ran right to the front of a car."

"Was she run over?"

"Yes. But fortunately the person driving the car was one of our doctors. He gave her first aid. Saved her life."

"So she's okay?" It was impossible to hide all the emotion that was in Draco's voice while asking that simple question.

"Yes, she survived, but she couldn't remember anything, the poor girl. She couldn't tell us what had happened, she didn't know anything. Not even her own name. She was in coma for two weeks. We still tried to investigate something, but there wasn't enough evidence. Practically everything we have is in the doctor's report..."

"She doesn't remember anything!..." was all Draco Malfoy could say. His mind was still trying to process the information. So that's why she never came after him. She simply didn't remember... Finally, he released a sigh of relief. She was alive. She was safe.

"Are you okay, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, I am. Do you know where I can find her?"

"Of course. I can go personally with you to Emily's house..."

"Emily?"

"Yes, this was the name she chose after she woke up."

"Emily..." Malfoy still repeated one more time in a distant tone of voice.

"Yes, Emily Watson. She works as a social worker in our hospital now."

"Emily Watson, social worker."

"That's it. What's her real name?"

"Virginia. Virginia Malfoy. She was a teacher."

"And does she have a family?"

"Parents, six brothers, lots of nephews and nieces and a husband."

"My God."

"Yes, it's a big family."

"No, it's not that... It's that, well, she's engaged."

"She's what?" Draco almost felt of his chair.

"Engaged to a doctor. This will be a little complicated when her husband finds out..."

"Yes, undoubtedly," Malfoy replied barely believing what he had just heard.

Engaged? That couldn't be true, could it? "Look, I just want to find her. Can you bring me to her house?" First, he would see her. Then, he would take care of her fiancé...

"Yes, of course. Do you have some new clue on Emily's case, I mean, Virginia's?"

"We have some," Draco answered putting the file back to the sheriff's desk.

"Would you like a copy of it?"

"No," he answered quickly. Really, he didn't want to read all that. It would be too painful. "If I need to later, I'll ask someone to come and pick it up."

"As you like. Let's go," he said, standing up and walking outside of the room. "I'm not sure she's home already. Maybe she's still in the hospital." The sheriff looked at the watch. "Yes, she's probably still working."

"Is the hospital far from here?"

"No, we can go by foot."

"Great. Then why don't we do like this: you go to her house and I go to the hospital? So we won't miss her," Draco suggested, not really wanting someone around when he met her.

"Fine with me. Let me write down..." The sheriff scrabbled something in a piece of paper. "This is her address in case you don't find her, okay?"

"Okay." The other put the paper in his suit pocket.

"And the hospital is three blocks from here. Just walk down this street." Both of them were already outside the police station. "And turn left in the third block. There's no way you can miss the building."

"All right. See you soon," Draco replied, starting to walk.

During the entire walk, he thought his heart would come out of his mouth. He was sweating and his stomach was upside down in anticipation. It was hard to believe that less than two days ago he thought Ginny was dead and now... Now he was so close to have her back that he had to control himself not to run down the street. He had to see her. There was a part of him that would only believe the whole story after seeing her, touching her, smelling her. He had to be sure he wasn't dreaming.

He arrived at the hospital before he could realise. He approached the balcony and with a trembling voice he asked for Emily Watson, social worker. He was given the number of a room on the fifth floor. He tried to wait for the elevator, but he couldn't make it. The damned thing was taking an eternity to come, so he took the stairs, two by two. He arrived up on the fifth floor breathless. He stopped for a few seconds supporting himself on the wall to calm down his breathing and moved towards the room. His heart barely fit in his chest, he was so excited, but it didn't last much. As soon as he reached the door, he saw it was locked, the lights were turned off. Ginny had clearly already left.

His disappointment was evident. He wanted to kick the door till it broke. He was really angry, but there was nothing to be done. He went downstairs again, this time with no hurry, his heartbeat coming back to normal. Would that be his fate? Always looking for her but never finding her, like two parallel lines that will only meet in infinity?

"No," he repeated to himself. "No, she's too close now." And trying to renew his hopes, Draco went out to the street again, wanting to find his way back to the police station, where his car was parked. He started to walk slowly. The sun had already set and the lights were turned on. The night helped, though, with a sky that promised lots of stars. Distractedly, Draco stumbled a little when he suddenly noticed a shade, a glimpse of red on the other side of the street. Almost like a reflex that he had developed along the years – the habit of looking for his Ginny in every red head he found - Draco turned to look at it better. Nothing in his entire life could have prepared him for all the emotion that invaded him in that moment – the sublime moment in which he saw her.

It was _her_. There, just a few steps away, smiling and carelessly putting her hair behind her ear. It was her – walking calmly, breathing, with all the freckles in the right places. It was her! Draco could barely believe his eyes. He watched her hypnotised, without realising that his legs were moving. It was her. He wasn't dreaming, hallucinating. It was her – his Ginny, his love, his wife.

He followed her without realising, his feet moving due to a mysterious force. Now that she was in reach of his hands, Draco was, for a few moments, happy to simply see her, he was finally tasting the happiness of having her alive. From the distance with which he was watching, she was exactly how he remembered – the same face, the same eyes, the same lips. No difference. At least, not that he could see. Maybe there would be some: new wrinkles, lines of expression that weren't there before and a certain emptiness in her look, but he was too in love to realise. She was his Ginny and this was the only thought his mind seemed to comprehend.

Finally, just looking at her wasn't enough. He wanted to touch her, to feel her, solid and real against his chest. He wanted to hug her and pretend that the last ten years hadn't happened, that he was just meeting her after an argument, ready to apologise, ready to start again. He moved faster to reach her. Finally, he approached Ginny when she stopped to look at a shop window, but when she took a step towards the shop entrance; he pulled her. Draco probably used a little more strength than necessary, but he didn't even notice. He turned her abruptly and, holding her by the elbows, he could see that there was no doubt; it really was her.

"My God, Ginny, it's you!" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

"It's you!" he repeated, finally letting all the happiness stuck in his chest flow out through his face. My God, he loved her so much! That moment, he didn't think that she couldn't remember him, he didn't think that he looked like insane, he didn't think of anything else. He just let the almost physical need of hugging her, feeling her, lead him.

He probably used too much strength again in the hug. He couldn't tell. The only thing he knew when he felt that smell again and the almost forgotten weight of her head on his shoulder, was that he was happy. He was happier than ever before.

In that single moment, for the first time in ten years, Draco Malfoy felt at home.


	10. Chapter 9: Far away so close

All Our Yesterdays 

**Translator: **Carol Grissom

**Author: **Flora Fairfield

**Disclaimer: **Characters are not mine, or Flora's

**Beta'd by:** Sidney (hathor x)

Chapter 9 – Far away, so close

Emily was watching the white stripes on the road with distracted eyes. The car was moving at a nearly constant speed through the highway, which was practically desert. They were going west. Beside her the man who had just turned her life upside down was driving silently. His gaze was stuck on the horizon; his arms were hard on the wheel. He had been in that position for almost two hours, without saying a word. Emily had thousands of questions in her head, but she knew that, despite his impassible expression, Draco also had his head just as full as hers.

"Draco," Emily repeated mentally. The name sounded strange to her ears. Like a made-up name. On a normal day, she wouldn't have given him much thought. It was the gray eyes that pursued her. It was the soft touch that gave her the chills – good chills – down her spine. It was his hole being that was extremely familiar to her. She didn't remember him, but she felt as though she had always known him. And still, he was a stranger. He was a mystery. But a mystery that might put her life back on track.

Two days had gone since he'd found her. And since that moment, she was obliged to question every aspect of her existence. After the hug in the street, he had released her and, due to the evident questioning expression on her face, he had explained that he knew her; that he knew who she was. The three of them – Camila had followed them – went to Emily's house, where the sheriff was waiting. A little after that, John had arrived – apparently the policeman had called him – and the five of them had discussed a few details about who she was and how she had disappeared.

"Virginia Malfoy," Emily repeated to herself. Another strange name. She found out lots of interesting things about herself: she discovered she was a primary school teacher, she had living parents and six brothers, and she was married but had no kids. When she heard that, she no longer needed explanations to know who was her husband. Just looking at the disturbed eyes of the blond in front of her was enough. John, though, was shocked. As expected, it wasn't easy for him.

"But how is this possible?" the doctor asked, bewildering. "You didn't have a wedding ring when you were found."

"That's true." Emily turned to Draco a little intrigued. Slowly, the investigator took off his own ring and made it glide over the coffee table to her.

"Read the inscription," Draco said. "You had taken off your ring the day you disappeared to cook, and you forgot it at home," he completed and in some way, beyond her comprehension, Emily knew the moment he had said those words, that they weren't true. He was lying to her, but maybe he had a good reason for that.

Without taking her eyes off Draco, then, she extended the hand and took the ring.

"Ginny Weasley, 03/28/2000," she read out loud.

"Ginny is your nickname and Weasley, your maiden name. Your wedding ring is stowed and it recorded 'Draco Malfoy, 03/28/2000'; my name and the date of our wedding," he finally admitted in front of three pairs of surprised eyes. "The certificate is in London too, in case any of you would like to see."

"I trust you," she simply answered and for an instant she thought she saw his look brighten for a brief moment.

"Emily, don't you think it'd be better..." John started, still shocked.

"He's speaking the truth. I know it."

"Do you remember?"

"No, but I know."

"About your amnesia," Draco interrupted, "I know someone who might help."

"Someone?" Camila butted in. "We've already taken Emily to a lot of doctors..."

"You didn't take her to this one." Malfoy gave her a frosty look.

"Who is he?" Emily asked.

"If you don't mind, Ginny, there are certain things I would feel more comfortable to discuss privately."

"All right," she answered. "Camila, Sheriff..." Both of them stood up a little against their will, clearly distrusting the stranger.

"Call me later," Camila whispered in her ear while hugging her.

"Okay."

Right after they had left, Emily turned to her fiancé who was watching the scene impassive.

"John..." she started, but he interrupted her when he recognised that tone of voice.

"Emily, you can't be serious. You barely know him!" When Draco heard that, he stood up from the chair he was sitting and she noticed that he was about to explode. Something told her it that was best that didn't happen.

"John, come with me," she said quickly, pulling him by the hand making him leave the room.

"You barely know him!" he repeated when they left it.

"It's all right."

"No, it's not. How do you know he's speaking the truth? What assures you he's not the freak who kidnapped you, in first place?"

"John, my dear, I know he won't hurt me. I know!"

"How? How do you know?"

"I simply know. Now's not the time for us to argue. Can't you imagine how hard it must have been for him? He lost his wife ten years ago and now that he's found her again, she's engaged to another man!"

"That is _if_ he's speaking the truth."

"He is. Please, everything's going to be fine. Just leave us alone for a while," she asked, finally, and John knew it would be useless to refuse her.

"I'll be in the car outside in case you need anything," he answered before leaning to kiss her lightly on the lips, and left.

Emily still stood there for a few more seconds trying to recompose herself, but she ended up concluding that it wouldn't be possible. So, she came back to the room, where she found Malfoy standing up, with one of his hands on the fireplace. He was handsome, she couldn't deny it. But there was a heavy atmosphere around him. He didn't seem to be a friendly person, or even sociable but still she didn't fear him.

"So, who is this doctor you've mentioned?"

"He's not a doctor," Draco answered.

"And what is he?"

"Have you ever asked yourself why weird things happen around you, Ginny?" He had finally turned to face her.

"Weird things? What kind of weird things?"

"Objects exploding when you're angry, or moving without any explanation, doors slamming or anything of the genre?" He didn't seem to understand her surprise.

"I never made anything like that." Emily faced him starting to think it was some kind of joke.

"Never?" Now Draco seemed genuinely surprised.

"Never."

"Well." He was confused. "Maybe that's something to do with the memory charm..." he said more to himself.

"Charm? What are you talking about, Draco?"

"I don't know any more delicate way of telling you this, so: you're a witch, Ginny."

"A what?"

"A witch. That's one of the things you've forgotten."

"I'm a witch?" She obviously didn't believe him. "If it's some kind of joke..."

"It's not! Look." He took out what seemed like a straight polished wooden stick out from his pocket. "This is a wand."

"A wand? Don't you think I'm a little too old to be Cinderella?"

Without paying much attention to her last comment, Malfoy pointed the piece of wood towards the wedding ring that was still lying on the coffee table, saying:

:"_Accio_ wedding ring!" In an instant, the ring came flying towards him and only stopped in his hand. Emily seemed impressed, but not necessarily convinced.

"I've seen magicians doing similar things..."

"This is not a trick!" he exclaimed furious, now pointing the wand to the fireplace.

"_Incendio!_" And a fire was lit. Scared, Emily took a few steps backwards, but now he had pointed the wand to the chair. A few more words and the chair came towards her, making her sit on it. "_Lumos!_" And the tip of the wand started to emit light.

"_Nox!_" And the light went off. "W_ingardium Leviosa!_" A vase on the table started floating. Next, Draco let it fall and when she was about to complain, he completed, _"Reparo!_" And all the pieces of potter were gathered together again, becoming a vase again.

"My God," was all Emily could say.

"I know this is a shock, but..."

"A shock? A shock? I'm not even sure if I'm dreaming or awake! I knew that watching too much X-Files would give me nightmares one day!"

"Listen, Ginny." He went down on his knees in front of her, facing her with those big gray eyes. "I understand your skepticism and, believe me, I would love to stay here the whole night making charms if necessary, but..."

"I don't know if that would be enough!"

"My whole life, then. God knows I wouldn't mind, but we don't have all that time."

And after a pause, "Look, there's a charm called Memory Charm. I think it was used on you to provoke your amnesia."

"A charm?"

"Yes, a charm. And maybe it can be reversed."

"And I could remember everything?"

"Yes! You could remember who did this to you and you could remember me," he completed, holding her hands gently.

"And this... this man you mentioned..."

"He's a wizard. He must know what to do with you."

"I want to remember," Emily said sincerely.

"And you have no idea of how much I want... How much I need you to remember," Draco responded, leaning his head to give a long and soft kiss on her hands.

"Come with me, Ginny," he muttered without standing up. "Please."

"I will," Emily simply responded. Somehow she knew she couldn't live in peace with herseilf if she didn't try. She trusted that man more than anyone else, and she barely knew him! She had to know where all that trust came from.

"Great," he said as if a big weight had been taken off his shoulders. "I'll pick you up tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow? You'd better not."

"Why not?" he goggled.

"I need at least one day here before traveling. I have things to organise." And after a pause, "My family... My parents, my brothers... Will you bring me to meet them after we see that wizard?"

"Yes," Malfoy answered annoyed. "After tomorrow, then?"

"After tomorrow is fine," she answered and then, an unconfortable silence came over them.

"Your fiancé is still outside, isn't he?" Draco asked after some time.

"How did you...?"

"I saw him leaving and entering in the car through the window. But I didn't hear the sound of the engine."

"He's worried about me... He..." Emily started, trying to apologise.

"It's all right," Malfoy interrupted her. "I could never expect you to spend ten years here without dragging any hearts. In his place, I would be doing exactly the same thing," he completed, but one look to his eyes was enough for her to see that nothing was fine, that that hurt him more than anything.

"Draco," Emily started, feeling guilty without knowing why... How could she have guessed that she was married? "But I knew," she said to herself. "One part of me had always known."

"Don't worry," he interrupted her. "I have to go," he completed standing up quickly, as if he was afraid of changing his mind if he waited more. "I'll come after tomorrow early. Around seven. Is that all right?"

"Yes."

"The wizard we'll see first is here in Scotland, and then we'll go to your parents'."

"Where do they live?"

"In England too," Draco answered moving towards the door. Emily was about to stand up, but he stopped her. "I know the way. Don't worry. I'll see you after tomorrow," he said, turning to the door and leaving, in the same manner that he had arrived: abruptly.

She remained still sitting in the chair for some time, thinking about everything that had just happened. She barely noticed when John came in again, and she only noticed his presence when he spoke.

"Did you light the fireplace, Emily? In the middle oft he summer?" he asked surprised.

"Huh?" She wasn't really paying attention.

"The fireplace is lit. And the chair, you changed its place. Any reason in particular?"

"No," she answered, still distracted.

"Emily, is everything all right?"

"Yes."

"You're going with him, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"To where?"

"See the wi... doctor he indicated and then meet my family."

"When are you going?"

"After tomorrow."

"You and him?"

"Yes, John."

"All right. I always knew this would happen some day," he said embittered. "I'll be in my house in case you need anything, but I think you have a lot going on your mind now, don't you?"

"John, don't do that..." she asked. "Don't speak like that."

"Bye, Emily. I'll see you when you get back." He also left through the door without waiting. She gave a tired sigh and went upstairs to her bedroom. She laid down in her bed, but didn't sleep. She stood staring the ceiling trying to find out what would happen to her life from now on. A little after that, the phone rang but she didn't answer. It was Camila. She would probably call John to know if everything was all right, so Emily didn't worry. She would talk to her tomorrow.

The next day, Emily was still in bed, with her eyes wide open. She hadn't slept all night. She had wished so many times for something like that to happen, someone from her past to come and finally answer all the questions in her head, and now that it had happened, there were so many more.

Finally, when the alarm clock rang, she got up, took a shower, got dressed, ate something and left to work. In the hospital, she went after her boss to explain what had happened and ask to anticipate a few days from her vacation. She was keeping the vacation for her honeymoon, but one week less wouldn't make much difference. During the entire day, she neither met nor spoke to John. She wanted to say good-bye to him, but, on the other hand, she didn't know what to say, so, she didn't look for him either. Towards the end of the day, though, she found Camila and both of them went out to dinner.

"I spoke to John," Camila said. "He's shocked."

"And I'm a bundle of nerves! Or have you forgotten it was me who discovered was married?"

"I'm not forgetting anything. Neither is he. It's just that, well, he thinks you won't come back."

"What?"

"Think, Emily, it's a valid idea. You'll get to know a whole new life. Maybe you won't want to come back to this one."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"He did, and that's why he's so shocked."

"Well, and what can I do? Not going isn't an option."

"I don't know, Emily. I don't know, really."

"Camila," Emily started wanting to ask the question that was on her lips since their hug the previous day. "Would it be possible for me to have some kind of residual or selective memory, or whatever?"

"Residual or selective memory?"

"Yes! You have explained to me that some people's amnesias work in a selective way. For example: they remember the street they live, but not the number of the house. Could it be my case?"

"Why do you think that? Do you remember him?"

"No. Not exactly, but it's like if I did, like if I knew... Even before he came! You know that. We were talking about it yesterday, during the consult!"

"No. Yesterday we were talking about your mysterious man."

"Exactly!"

"And don't you think you're only using this investigator to fill in the blank of your 'mysterious man'? How can you love someone you barely know?"

"But I knew him. I married to him."

"Not you. Ginny Weasley married to him. And still, it doesn't assure she loved him."

And after a pause, she continued, "Emily, I'm really worried about you."

"I'm fine!"

"No, you're not. Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Be careful. Don't be so easy going, my friend, because it all may be just an illusion. Be sure before deciding anything. Will you promise?"

"I will," Emily answered. After that, Camila calmed down.

Both of them stood talking about non-important things till late. When Emily arrived home, she still had to pack her things and set her alarm clock. When she laid down in her bed, though, she couldn't sleep again. She stood awake, seeing the hours pass until the alarm clock rang saying it was time to get up. She took a shower and ate toast. Punctually, at seven o'clock, her doorbell rang. He had arrived.

And so Emily was now sitting in the car beside Draco, with thousands of questions to ask, but not in the mood to ask them. Finally the constant movement and monotony of the road added to two sleepless nights made her fall asleep and, like a reluctant child, she slept with the head supported on the car's window.

The road extended itself in front of him. A few more miles of silent journey and Draco started to ask himself if it wasn't an endless road, like his search, like his life. Ginny had fallen asleep a few minutes ago. "It's better this way," he thought. At least he wouldn't have to spend more time under her gaze, watching him, measuring him. That look at the same time so familiar and so strange. Finally, she was there, within his reach, alive, but still, he felt as if she was miles away.

When he found out she was fine and amnesiac, Draco had only thought how the lack of memory explained the fact that she hadn't gone looking for him in ten years. The only thing he felt was a huge happiness for her not being dead. He didn't know, though, that it would be so hard. Everything he wanted was to touch her, to kiss her, love her, like he hadn't done for so long; but how could he if she barely remembered him? She didn't remember the hidden meetings, the arguing with her brothers, the wedding, the small apartment that she loved, the plans for the future, nothing. And, even more, she was engaged to another man. He didn't even want to start to think about it. He was driving and it would be extremely dangerous, considering the fact that he would start to break everything when he thought of that man who dared to put his hands on his Ginny.

After talking to her two nights ago, Draco had left her house abruptly because if he had stayed for a few more instants, he wouldn't answer for his acts. He had slammed the door and entered in the car, but hadn't left immediately. He had stayed there, sitting, watching while her fiancée went to meet her. It was torture to stay there, standing still, imagining what both of them could be doing inside, but Draco couldn't avoid it. He only could start the car when, to his huge relief, he saw the other slamming the door too, entering his car and leaving.

When he arrived in London, late at night, he had found his apartment in the same deplorable state it was before, but with one difference: the coffee table, which was turned on the floor, was now back to its original position, and on it there was a note. Fearing for a minute that it could be the man from the phone, Draco extended the hand to grab it, but released a relief sigh when he saw the signed name - Hermione Granger.

_Malfoy,_

_We came to look for you and obviously didn't find you._

_From what we could see, the wall has shocked against other things in your living room, besides the phone. I would have fixed it, but I'm not your maid. We've brought, though, a new phone set, with an ID call. The phone company has already authorised the service. When the man calls again, you just have to write down the number it shows and then dial the number I left on the phone, identify yourself as a government investigator – give the code of your muggle district – and ask for the address of the place that owns the phone number._

_See if you can get things fixed back here._

_Hermione Granger._

Draco didn't know if he should get angrier for the two of them getting in his house without permission, daring to buy the damn phone for him without letting him know or for being reprimanded by a damn mud-blood. He almost started to break everything again, but, recognising the useless act, he decided to at least fix what was already broken. After all, he was still a Malfoy, and couldn't live like that.

After a few charms, the apartment was in order again and Draco let himself fall on the bed – still dressed. He was exhausted.

In the next day he went to the office and spent most of the time trying to locate Dumbledore. He had thought that, so close from the beginning of the classes, he would find the headmaster in Hogwarts, but he was mistaken. Apparently, nobody knew where he was. Draco was almost desperate, but in the end, after calling Eames to help him, he got what he wanted. He sent a letter to Dumbledore explaining what had happened and the answer came quickly, setting an appointment for the following day at the school. No matter how conflicting his feelings were concerning the headmaster, Malfoy had to admit he was the biggest wizard alive and Ginny needed the best.

A little more tranquil, Draco went home, but practically didn't sleep. If he wanted to be in Harmony Springs at seven in the morning, he would have to leave quite early. He was getting used to that journey to Scotland and, this time, he didn't miss – neither thought he missed - the way. He rang the doorbell punctually trying to push deep inside his thoughts the fear of her changing her mind or worse: that it was nothing more than a bittersweet dream.

To his relief, she opened the door as beautiful as always and said she only needed to pick her bags. Draco followed her and, being a gentleman at least once in his life, he took the not too big bags and put them in the car.

And now he was driving for almost three hours without saying a word. There were so many things he wanted to say to her! So many things that _needed_ to be said! But he didn't know where to start. Now that he was there, he didn't know what to do, so he chose to do nothing. With some luck Dumbledore would help them and everything would be fine.

A little later – an hour, maybe more – Draco saw what he was looking for. He couldn't arrive in Hogwarts with a car, of course, so the headmaster had sent one of the horseless stagecoaches from the school to meet them a little before Hogsmeade. Malfoy parked the car and, not wanting to wake up Ginny, he took her on his arms and carried her. He sat down in the stagecoach still holding her.

Having her like that, so close, was so good, and Draco couldn't resist.

Watching her asleep, he passed his hand lightly through her hair, her cheek, her nose full of freckles, her red lips. He went a little down, passing the hand along her neck and letting it rest over her breasts. There was no guilt in that touch. Malfoy was just watching every detail, every tint and comparing to what he remembered. It was the same Ginny! Maybe with a closer look he would notice some little differences, due to the age, but that wasn't important. Finally, without being able to control himself, he did what he had been wanting to do for quite some time: he leaned and lightly touched her lips with his.

Ginny didn't wake up. She only moved a little and nestled better against Draco's chest, supporting her head on his shoulder. Malfoy didn't try to kiss her again. For now, he was happy to have her in his arms, close to his heart.

The stagecoach kept its rhythm and, after around twenty minutes, they approached to the entrance of the school. Reluctant in waking Ginny up – he was too comfortable in that position – Malfoy went out still carrying her. The big doors closed behind him and Draco noticed Dumbledore wasn't there yet. Gently, he put Ginny down sitting her on the stair and woke her up.

"What? Have we arrived?" she asked scared.

"Yes, we have. Everything's all right."

"Is it here that the wizard lives?" Ginny asked, standing up. She seemed curious.

"He's the headmaster of this school, so yes, he lives here during a good period of the year."

"Is it a castle?"

"Yes, Virgina, it's a castle." Dumbledore's voice could be heard softly and welcoming, like a father's voice.

"You are..."

"Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where you've studied."

"I have studied here?" She was surprised.

"Just like me," Draco responded standing up too.

"Were we from the same year?"

"No. You're one year younger."

"And we started to date at school?"

"Yes," he answered noticing the enigmatic smile on Dumbledore's lips.

"Well, why don't we go to my office?" the headmaster asked. "How about a cup of tea?"

"Headmaster," Malfoy interrupted before Ginny could answer. "We didn't come for the tea..."

"Yes, I know. The tea is just a bonus. Come, follow me," he completed, and the couple obeyed. Ginny seemed curious and Malfoy, annoyed.

The headmaster's office was still the same as he remembered, the same furniture, the same books, the same sorting hat and the same bird. Ginny was impressed with it. Who wouldn't be? She looked at all that with surprise, sometimes, fright, but, to Draco's relief, she didn't show fear. The headmaster made her sit down in front of his desk and, instead of sitting on the other side of it, he sat down beside her. He would conjure a chair for Malfoy but he declined and went to the window instead. The school's territory outside was also the same. Hogwarts had been practically the same for a thousand years, why would it change in the fifteen years Draco had left it? A little far away he could see the Quidditch pitch, stage of so many battles of him against Potter. All that seemed to have happened a life ago.

Looking back to the other occupants of the room, he noticed Dumbledore had already offered Ginny a cup of tea and now he was serving another one, which he offered to him. Malfoy declined with his head and the headmaster came back to the woman beside him.

"Virginia, Mr. Malfoy has already told me some of the circumstances of what happened to you, so I don't mean to tire you with questions, but there are certain things I'd like to hear from your lips."

"Sure," she answered quickly.

"What, exactly, do you remember?"

"Nothing. I mean... nothing from _this world_."

"I understand you were in a coma for a few days."

"Yes, for two weeks."

"And from when is your first memory? Before or after you woke up?" He kept talking to her while mixing his tea, as if Ginny was still just a student who had come to the headmaster with some school problem.

"From after. My first memory is waking up in the hospital."

"I see." Dumbledore couched back in his chair and took the cup to the mouth. "Has Mr. Malfoy talked to you about your family?"

"My parents and my brothers? Yes, he has. He'll bring me to see them afterwards."

"Have you already talked to them?" Dumbledore turned to Draco.

"Not yet. I'll send an owl from Edinburgh."

"You could've talked to them before. This is undoubtedly news they'd like to hear."

"I know, but I preferred not to take any chances. Especially when the subject is Ginny's disappearing."

"I understand." The headmaster seemed satisfied. "And you, Virginia, wouldn't you like to ask me any questions?" The woman faced him as if that was the last thing she was expecting to hear.

"Thousands. But I don't know if you can answer all of them."

"Probably not, but I might answer some of them. What do you say?" She seemed to stop for a little thinking. Her look instinctively went to Draco and he felt his heart jump in his chest seeing her turning to him searching for some orientation.

"He'll probably have more patience than me," he said to encourage her even knowing that wasn't true. He would be able to stay and answer all her questions for the whole eternity only to have her close if needed.

"For how long have I studied here?" she started, as if she was still getting used to the idea of asking everything she wanted.

"For seven years. From the age of eleven to almost eighteen."

"And do you remember me specifically?"

"I remember all the students who have already been in this school since I've became the headmaster and all the ones I've taught before, but I have specific reasons to remember you too. Your parents, for example, are very good friends, and besides that, it's not every day you get to see a Gryffindor who ends up getting married to a Slytherin. You, Ginny, have always been a very special girl."

"Gryffindor? What is it?"

"Oh, Hogwarts' students are selected in different houses according to their characteristics. Gryffindor to the brave ones, Hufflepuff to the loyal ones, Ravenclaw to the clever ones and Slytherin to the ambitious ones. Yours was Gryffindor and Mr. Malfoy's was Slytherin."

"And what's so special about it?"

"Gryffindor and Slytherin don't get along well."

"Why not?"

"It started with a fight between the founders of the houses and, with time, of course, the reason was lost but the rivalry remained."

"That's quite stupid."

"Yes." The headmaster smiled. "Very stupid. What people don't understand is that the four houses together are very powerful. Separated, they're good, but combined, the power is extraordinary, because each one represents the best of a wizard, its founder, and through them, each one of the founders is still alive."

"That's all very interesting." Draco interrupted starting to get irritated, "But we're here for a reason."

"Of course yes, Mr. Malfoy. I'm just not sure if you know what is this reason."

"It's the memory charm they've put on her!"

"There's no charm."

"What? But it's impossible!"

"When do you think this charm was put on her, Mr. Malfoy? Before or after she ran away?"

"Before, of course!"

"So, shouldn't she have some memories of what happened before the coma?" Dumbledore asked as if he was explaining things to a child.

"But that... That doesn't mean anything! They might've gotten into the hospital, might've..."

"That's not all. There are other signs too. And, particularly, I don't think such a powerful memory charm could've been made without some permanent damage to Ginny, which doesn't seem to have happened."

"But what happened, then?"

"What did your doctors say, Virginia?"

"Amnesia," she answered with one word.

"Clinic or psychological background?"

"Psychological."

"There's your answer, Mr. Malfoy."

"I can't believe it. It can't be true."

"You came here to listen to my opinion. Well, here is my opinion: no charm has caused her loss of memory. There are no magical causes to what happened. Cause was physical or psychological."

"And what do we do now?"

"I'm afraid there's not much to be done."

"You're saying there's no cure?" Draco asked and his despair could be felt. There had to be some way!

"Yes, there's a cure, but there's nothing we can do to heal her. Except, maybe offer a tour through the school. Familiar things might help you to remember, right, Ginny?"

"Doctors have said so."

"Do you want to remember?" Dumbledore asked softly.

"Of course I do."

"Even knowing that remembering your family means remembering the trauma that has caused the amnesia in first place?"

"Even knowing that," she answered, but her voice was a little hesitant.

"Well, then, why don't we go for a walk through the school?"

"I think it's a great idea," Ginny answered excited. Draco, though, followed them without paying attention to where they were going or to what they were saying. He couldn't stop thinking about what the headmaster had just said. He knew what the man had done to her. He knew what had happened and just the thought made him feel like vomiting and like killing him, but Ginny didn't remember. She might even know, but she doesn't remember. Somehow, that made things a little better. It was almost like it hadn't happened. The question, then, was if he really wanted her to remember. In that moment, Draco Malfoy was having the least selfish thoughts of his entire life.

Most of the professors were already in the school and, to avoid curious looks and questions, the three of them had lunch alone. Ginny was excited with all the new things around her. They walked a little more after the meal, but not too long after that Draco was obliged to remind her that they still had a long way ahead.

As they reached the exit, though, while Ginny was distracted, the headmaster approached Draco. "She told me she didn't show any signs of magic during these ten years. Did you know that?"

"I thought it was something to do with the charm, but if there's no charm..."

"Exactly."

"Might it be because of the amnesia?"

"No, it can't. It should be like a reflex, something involuntary. Doesn't make difference if she remembers or not."

"And why is that to worry?"

"I'm not sure yet, Mr. Malfoy. I need to do my own investigations, but in the mean-time, it's very important that you keep trying to find out who kidnapped these women..."

"I didn't mean to give up the case."

"And it's very important that nothing bad happens to Ginny."

"But what could happen..."

"If the others were killed and she wasn't, it might be a problem," Dumbledore answered deadly serious.

"But if the murderer knew where she was and has done nothing this whole time, why would he do so now?"

"I don't know. But whatever happens, Mr. Malfoy, she must remain alive. Is that clear?"

"Like water," Draco answered equally serious. A warning from the headmaster wasn't necessary for him to know he would defend her with his own life. But when he heard him emphasising how important that was, he made a decision without noticing it. The toughest decision of his life.

"Draco," Ginny started with a weak voice, like if she was in doubt whether she should or not say something. They had already left Hogwarts and driven a couple of hours in complete silence. "What is... How was it that Mr. Dumbledore said you call the people who don't make magic?"

"Muggles."

"Yes, muggles. What do muggles see when they look at the school?"

"I'm not absolutely sure, but I think they see mines and signs saying to stay away. Something like that. Why?"

"Nothing," she said turning her face to the window. "Just curiosity."

Malfoy took his gaze off the road for a few instants to face her and saw her still looking at the view through the window. He had the clear impression that she wasn't saying all the truth, but he didn't force the subject. The last thing he needed was her thinking he didn't believe in what she was saying.

The silence came back again for a long period. Finally, Ginny decided to talk, and what came out of her mouth made Draco's heart jump inside his chest.

"Draco," she started, now looking at her hands. "There's something I've been wanting to ask since before yesterday, but, well... I didn't know how to touch the subject." She stopped and, seeing he wouldn't say anything, "When I woke up, the doctors said ... They told me I had lost a baby." She finally rose her head. "Did you know that?"

"Yes," Draco said holding the wheel so tight that his fingers' joints started to turn white. "You had just told me before you disappeared."

"And why didn't you ask me..."

"I thought you had lost the child after all that had happened, but I wasn't sure if you knew you were pregnant," he answered with an extremely controlled voice, fighting not to let all his pain show up.

"Was I happy with the pregnancy?"

"I'd never seen you happier," Draco said, trying to hold back another wave of sadness that was trying to choke him. "Emily," he whispered.

"What?"

"Emily. That was the name you wanted if it was a girl."

"Really?" she asked surprised, involuntarily bringing her hand to the empty belly. "I woke up with this name in my mind in the hospital. I had no idea..."

"It's the name of a childhood friend of yours."

"Did she study in Hogwarts too?"

"No, she died at the age of nine, of some disease. I don't remember."

"That's why the name was so special," Ginny muttered to herself.

"Yes," Draco said without knowing what else he could add. Both stood in silence for a few more minutes, until she noticed the exit he took from the road.

"Hey! You took the wrong way!" she exclaimed looking back.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did! The road to Edinburgh..."

"We're not going to Edinburgh."

"Where are we going, then?"

"Harmony Springs."

"But..."

"Ginny, answer me one thing, honestly." He turned to her without realising how evident the pain was in his eyes. "Are you happy there?"

"Yes." She took a while to answer. "But..."

"No, no 'buts'. What I want, what really interests me is for you to be happy," Malfoy interrupted her, now looking straight ahead, afraid of meeting her eyes. "I don't want you to remember me if it also means remembering everything that has happened to you when that man kidnapped you. I don't want you to remember that!"

"But I know what happened. The doctors told me. I..."

"You know, but you don't remember and the difference between them both is huge."

"Even if I never remember, I still might..."

"No," Malfoy answered impassible. He had made his decision and he wouldn't change his mind. He was convinced it was for the best. "We are our past, our memories. It's our yesterdays that define us and, without this past, you're not my Ginny," he said and even while the words came out, he knew he was saying the biggest lie of his life. "You're not the Ginny Weasley who married to me in a night where the storm was so strong that even the church's walls seemed to oscillate with the wind, who liked to see the snow falling on Christmas Eve, who told me that she was pregnant with the biggest smile in the world on her face. You're not my Ginny. You don't have to love me," he finished with the voice lightly embargoed. He wanted her more than anything in his life, but he could never live with himself even if he had her at the cost of his own happiness. She was alive. She was fine. And somehow, this knowledge would have to be enough for him.

The rest of the way was made in silence. A heavy silence, full of questions. Ginny spent most of the time watching the view with distant eyes and Draco tried to focus on the road, but actually, he could only repeat mentally to himself how insane he was.

When they arrived at her house, he came out to help her with her bags, which had ended up being useless. Malfoy was sure he would regret it all the next day, but then, it would be too late.

"Stay with this," he said giving her a piece of paper. "It's my phone number. Call me if you need anything. There will never be a bad time to ask for my help."

"Don't you want to come in?" she asked. "I can..."

"No, it's fine," he answered. "I have to go," he finally said, but he didn't leave immediately. He stood there, in front of her, watching her, without knowing what else he could say, but without really wanting to leave. As always, he knew he would be lost if he stood too long looking into those big brown eyes.

"Draco..."

"Don't say anything," Malfoy interrupted her, embracing her for the second time in a tight hug. The intention was to make that a good-bye hug, but when his senses were invaded by her smell, by her heat, he knew he was a man without hopes.

Before he realised, he was kissing her. Quick and desperate kisses. First in the neck, which was closer, and then the ear and cheeks. He kissed her forehead and the eyelids, the nose and, before she could do anything to stop him, he kissed her lips. It started with a quick kiss, so desperate as the others, but soon it evolved to a deep kiss, full of longing, full of love and full of desire. He passed one of his hands around her waist and pulled her closer, as much close as possible, and kept the other hand holding her cheek, not letting her go away. He knew that was madness. A delicious madness, but still, madness. To his surprise though, Ginny didn't try to stop him. She responded to the kiss. Maybe not with the same intensity, not with the same desire, the same longing, but at least she wasn't pushing him away. She was kissing him too.

For a few instants – few long instants – Draco felt what it would e like to have her back, and that made the good-bye even more painful. When he finally released her, she faced him with interrogative eyes, as if she was awaking from a dream and still didn't have the exact idea of what had just happened. He didn't wait, though, for her to get the idea.

He left her there, standing in the sidewalk in front of her house, while he turned and got in the car again. He didn't look back. If he had done so, he knew he would give up leaving her, and he had to do that. He had to let her live her life, with no fears, without the shadow of a horrible past, with no doubts. He would suffer, that's true, but at least he would be the only one to suffer.

He tried to repeat to himself what he had said to her in the car. He tried to convince himself that that was Emily Watson, and not Ginny Malfoy, his wife, but when he finally looked back through the rear-view mirror and saw her still standing in the sidewalk, all red hair at the distance, he had the certainty that it wasn't true. That was _his _Ginny. Not the same Ginny, that was true, but still she was the only woman he had ever loved and would love. While he lived.


	11. Chapter 10: That kiss

All Our Yesterdays 

**Translator: **Carol Grissom

**Author: **Flora Fairfield

**Disclaimer: **Characters are not mine, or Flora's

**Beta'd by:** Sidney (hathor x)

Chapter 10 – That kiss

Emily remained some time there, standing on the walkside, while the car left. She only got inside the house when the car had gone beyond the horizon line, and was out of her sight. Part of her still believed it would turn around and pick her up. When she finally convinced herself that that wouldn't happen, she felt... alone.

For a moment, she almost believed that the kiss would make her magically remember everything. That didn't happen, but, somehow, it helped her to understand things better. Now she knew she couldn't stay in Harmony Springs any longer. She knew she belonged far away from there, in the south, in a London she didn't remember she knew, beside a man that was so not familiar to her, but, at the same time, the only person in the world capable of making her feel that way.

Besides the kiss, she knew it. That so long, so suffered, so expected and so desired kiss made her admit what her heart knew for so long: she didn't love John. Not that way, not with that intensity, not with that necessity. The town that had been her home for so long now seemed like a strange place, empty, senseless.

She needed him. She had to be where he was. She had to know who he was. Never, in her entire life, had Emily felt such a passion for something. It was as if she had passed the last ten years numb, feeling things by half, seeing the world with eyes that weren't her own. But everything changed with that kiss. Like a modern Sleeping Beauty, she had found her prince. Now, she only had to bring him back.

When she finally convinced herself that he wouldn't come back, she grabbed her bags and entered the house. Her body was tired and her mind ached for some rest after all those revelations. She wanted to spend some good forty-eight hours sleeping, but she knew she had more important things to do. Good or bad, she had lived there for ten years. She couldn't leave without organising her stuff and saying good-bye to a lot of people. She wanted to do things the right way, and to do so, she would have to start with the most difficult task of all: talking to John. The one thing she had avoided and postponed the most, that she had tried in every way not to do. Now it was too late to run away. For the first time, Emily was absolutely sure about what she wanted to do and, in one way or another, she was going to do that.

The way back to Edinburgh had been lonely and silent. The road extended itself in front of him, getting darker and darker, but Draco didn't seem to notice. He refused to think, refused to believe that he had committed such a huge atrocity. How could he leave her behind? She had always been with him, wherever he was. She was his whole life. How could he abandon her like that? Regret comsumed him less than he had expected, and he was starting to think that he was insane. He almost stopped the car on the side road just to hit his head on the wheel for a few minutes. He was the stupidest man in the world. He had just left the only woman he had loved behind and in whose arms? Those of a muggle doctor from the countryside, who probably would barely know the difference between measles and rubeola! And, in addition, there was that kiss! Merlin, how could he forget a kiss like that? Never, in his life. Now, she was more alive than before in his mind and that kiss would probably keep him awake for many nights. How could he be so stupid?

"This is what happens," a part of his brain seemed to yell. "Wanting to be noble and generous. Wanting to play Harry Potter!"

Generosity and altruism weren't made for him. Draco was a Malfoy, and as such, he should have behaved like one, dragging her to London, even if he had to pull her by her hair! In that moment, he felt capable of doing anything, but he knew, deep inside, that if generosity and altruism weren't made for him, then bravery didn't fit him well either. How would he go back to her house after what had happened and say that he was wrong? That she still was his Ginny and that he wanted her back?

What would she do?

Slam the door in his face, at least. Draco didn't have the right to play with her life that way. Coming in and out of her house as if they were old neighbours. Messing with her with his own doubts, with his own fears.

No matter how big was his will to turn around and pick her up, he couldn't do that. He feared the possibility of being rejected. How would he survive if he heard from Ginny's mouth that she didn't love him anymore? That she no longer wanted him? Wouldn't that be the reason behind his so _altruist _decision? After all, if he left her first, how could she leave him? That was probably a part of his reasoning, yes, but wasn't the only one. Part of Draco was really considering Ginny's well being, considering her happiness. He wanted to see her smiling as before. The mistake was in believing, even if for a brief instant, that another man would be capable of making her smile the same way.

Somehow, this thought calmed down Malfoy a little. He had never been known for his honesty, so the extremely presumptuous tone of his conclusion didn't bother him. At least it gave him some conviction – or ever, some hope – that, if he came back at that instant, Ginny wouldn't put him out of the house, the same way she hadn't avoided responding to the kiss.

He didn't come back, though. Neither went back to London. When he arrived in Edinburgh, late at night, he rented a room in a wizarding hotel. After a night of sleep – or rolling from side to side in bed - he would hopefully have a better idea of what to do next.

The following morning was calm, warm and sunny. Emily thought she wouldn't be able to sleep, but in the moment she put her head on the pillow, the tiredness of the last few days charged for its price. She slept like a stone. A very crisp sleep.

She woke up around eight o'clock, with the sunlight breaking through the room, and she didn't waste any time. An hour and a half later, she was standing in front of John's door waiting for him to answer her. She didn't know exactly what she would say, or what she should do. So, she decided to be honest with herself and with him. After all, John was important for her, even if he wasn't the love of her life.

He took some time to show up. Surely he didn't have to be in the hospital so early, otherwise, he would have been ready or at least preparing himself. He opened the door still in his pajamas and with a sleepy expression on his face.

"Did I wake you?" Emily asked softly, only now realising that it wasn't that late in the morning.

"I had a night-duty..." he answered with the eyes half closed.

"Oh, I'm sorry... I'll come back later..." she said immediately, starting to move away. Part of her was relieved to postpone what she was about to do.

"No, it's alright." John held her softly by her arm. "There's no problem." He moved and gave space for her to enter. With no going back, she stepped inside the dark house and, with no ceremony, went to the living room. Without a better idea of what she should do, she sat down in an armchair and waited for him to join her.

"Just a minute," John said. "I'll be right back." He went upstairs, to the bedroom, probably to put on some clothes or brush his teeth. While alone, Emily couldn't hold back a nervous sigh. She knew what she wanted to do, what she should do, but now she was hesitating. Everything was so pretty in theory, but how to put it in practice? How to tell the man she had made plans with to spend the rest of her life that it simply wasn't possible anymore? That everything would have to be changed, thought again, re-planned because of a kiss on her doorstep? That wouldn't be pretty at all, and the fact that she was about to deeply hurt someone's feelings, someone who had loved her, was nearly unbearable.

Closing her eyes for an instant, Emily tried to remember why what she was doing was so important. She tried to remember how that kiss had made her feel. Actually, there was nothing difficult there. She didn't love John, and things were as simple as that.

Draco turned in his bed for the hundredth time. He had slept for a few hours, but he had awoken right after daybreak by an insistent owl that kept hitting his window with its beak. He didn't want to read the letter. He didn't want to be urgently called back to London because of some damned missing person case, when there was so much to be done there in Scotland. The owl, though, didn't seem to give up the delivery, and after some good forty minutes trying to ignore the interruption, Draco finally got up, irate, and opened the window.

The animal flew inside the room and roosted itself solemnly over the bed, with a censuring look. With a moody face, Malfoy sat down beside it and took the piece of parchment attached to its leg. He wanted the owl to fly away through the opened window back to the place it had come from, but instead, it stood there, waiting for an answer.

With an even uglier face, Draco opened the letter and almost devoured the words written in it:

_Draco,_

_Where the hell are you? I looked for you everywhere, except in hell, and I didn't find you. You'd better not be involved in any confusions, you wind-head. And, wherever you are, come back immediately. Today we're getting those files. I'm tired of being rolled up. It's time for the drastic decisions._

_I'll meet you in your apartment at ten. Don't be late._

_Matt_

If anyone else had sent him a letter like that, Malfoy would probably have eaten them alive, but Matt had his privileges. And besides, his news was too good to be ignored. It was obvious which files he was referring to: the missing women files. O'Brien would finally get them! Draco really hoped that they would help him enlighten the mystery and help him find the damned murderer, who would receive a well deserved reward for all he had done to Ginny as soon as Malfoy could wrap his hands around his neck.

Quickly he grabbed a piece of parchment in his stuff and wrote: _"I won't be late". _Then, he attached the note to the owl's leg and it flew through the window. Draco still stood staring at the blue sky for a few instants after it was gone. He planned to pick up Ginny today. He would talk to her, apologise, gain her back – at least in his dreams. But these dreams could wait another day. What he couldn't do – under any circumstances – was ignore his chances of finding out the one responsible for everything.

He would do that, even if it was the last thing he did in his life. And, if he died after that, he would die happy.

"I didn't expect you to come back so soon," John said with some hope in his voice when he sat down in front of her in the living room. Emily's heart hurt, knowing that in a few minutes she would have to end that hope.

"I didn't expect to be back so soon either," she tried to answer with a neutral voice.

"What happened then?" he asked almost innocently. How could she answer that question? How to put down in words he could understand everything she was feeling?

"Nothing," she said finally. "And at the same time, everything."

"What does it mean?"

"I myself am trying to understand." She put her hands in her face. "John..."

"Did you see your family?" he interrupted dryly.

"No."

"Did that doctor he mentioned help you in something?"

"No."

"So why do I have this feeling that this is the last place on Earth you want to be?"

"Because that's how I feel."

"You... You..." he started, but suddenly he didn't know what to say. He stood up and went to the window. Some children were playing in the desert street as if everything was fine in the world. Swamped by a huge wave of rage, John shook his fists at the wall, making Emily jump in her chair. "_Why? _That's all I want to know! _Why?_ What have I done wrong!"

"John..." she started standing up, but he interrupted her.

"No! You don't have to say anything. I always knew. Always knew," he finished supporting his head on the glass and closing his eyes.

"Always knew what?"

"Always knew that some day you would abandon the life you've built... That you would abandon _me_ because of some half promise, some half certainty in the horizon. You never loved me."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. And you know that as well as I do. I was an adequate pastime while you waited for your real life to start again."

"If you felt that way, why did you stay with me, then?"

"Because I love you! Because I had hopes that your real life would never start again. Do you understand how weird that is? In some way, I didn't want you to find out anything... I hoped that maybe some day what I was offering you would be enough for you."

"That is so little, John. You deserve someone who can really love you."

"I know. Unfortunately, I also know that words are a lot easier. Easier than actions."

"It's not true, I did love you," Emily said softly, approaching him. 'You're a wonderful person and I don't know what would have happened to me if you..."

"I don't want your gratitude!" he yelled, turning to face her again. "I don't want your gratitude! I never did and it always was the only thing you gave me!"

"John..."

"Go away, Emily."

"Don't do that..."

"And what do you want me to do? Say that it's all right? That you didn't hurt me? That I wouldn't like you to stay? That I wouldn't give my life so that everything could be different? Is that what you want me to say?"

"I know it's hard..."

"No, you don't know. You never knew." And after a pause, "Go away, Emily. The faster you go, the better for us both." He turned to the window again, waiting, not facing her.

Trembling a little, she got away from him, walking towards the door. When she was almost leaving, she took the wedding ring off her finger and put it on the table. It was really the end, she realised. She had just given up what had been her biggest reference point for ten years, because of a man she barely knew. It was impossible not to fear while opening the door and leaving onto the street. It was impossible not to have doubts while watching the old neighbourhood and the happy smile of the children playing. It was impossible not to question her own reasons while walking through those so familiar places, knowing that, from now on, nothing would be known, nothing would be familiar.

The fear was natural, Emily finally decided. But letting this fear define her actions wasn't. No matter how many doubts she had, she knew she had done the right thing. She knew she had made the right decision.

It was time to live her own life.

Draco was walking from side to side, checking his watch every second. It was already after ten, but the stupid O'Brien hadn't arrived yet. If there was something he really hated, it was waiting. Malfoy had already smoked five cigarettes, one after another. It had been years since he had smoked like that, but even that didn't seem to calm down his nerves. Finally, when he had just lit the sixth cigarette and almost wom a hole in his carpet from all his walking, he heard the other's voice behind him.

"Smoking really isn't good to your health, you know that?"

"Where have you been!"

"Calm down! It's only ten-fifteen..."

"I don't care if it's only ten-fifteen! You're late!"

"Yes, I know, but now I'm here. Satisfied?"

"Did you bring those damned files?" Draco asked impatiently.

"Yes," O'Brien answered, showing some folders he was carrying. "Here they are."

"Why didn't you say that before?" Malfoy asked grabbing the papers from his hands eagerly and sitting down. They were there! Finally, in the reach of his hands! Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to disguise his anxiety. Not when he could be in front of the answer to all of his questions.

"Won't you want some help to examine them?" O'Brien asked. "I borrowed them, so we don't have much time before returning them..."

"You borrowed?" Draco rose an eyebrow. The other just smiled.

"So, do you want help or not?"

"Of course yes. Sit down," he invited, pushing one of the folders towards Matt, who had sat down in a chair, ready to work.

"What exactly do you expect to find here?"

"Everything. Or, at least, something."

"'Something' isn't a little too vague?"

"If I knew exactly what I'm looking for, I wouldn't be looking for any shit, right? I would have already found it!" Malfoy answered, losing his patience. "I don't know what passed through the bastard's mind who investigated these crimes for the first time, but maybe he saw something we didn't. Maybe we can even meet him personally to ask."

"Or maybe he's involved in the whole plot."

"An investigator of your own organisation?"

"In first place, it's not _my_ organization. I only work for it. In second place, there must be a reason why nobody, not even the organisation, noticed the connection between these crimes before, isn't that right?"

"You think that Smith is hiding something."

"Who knows? I only think it's a possibility to be considered."

"But if that's the case, we won't find anything useful in his files!"

"Well, there's only one way to find out, Draco," Matt answered, leaning over the papers on the table again. Malfoy still faced him for some instants, considering his words. Maybe O'Brien was right and all that was useless, just another dead end alley, another lost hope. _"No."_ He shook his own head, putting those thoughts aside. _"Not this time."_ He was sure he would find something important there. He was absolutely sure and, armed with that conviction, he went back to work fiercely.

The files were deeply messed up. At first sight, it could be even thought that the investigator himself had caused that mess, but, with a careful look, it was possible to notice some patterns and details that were never considered by such a disorganised person. On the contrary. In Draco's opinion, it soon became clear that those files had been turned upside down and searched in a rushed way. And whoever was responsible for that had caused quite a mess.

"Did you check these folders before getting here, Matt?" he asked more to relieve his conscience. He had to eliminate every possibility.

"No, why? Do you think I've messed it all up?"

"I only want to be sure it _wasn't_ you. That's all."

"Well, it wasn't me." And after a pause, 'Why? Who do you think did that?"

"Someone who's as interested in these folders as me. Or even more, maybe."

"Don't you think you're getting a little paranoid? These folders were almost lost. They were full of dust and abandoned. Nobody had touched them for years!"

"If they were so unimportant, why did you have to 'borrow' them? Why didn't they let you simply go out through the door with them?"

"Rules, I guess. Policy. All the documents are controlled there. The bureaucracy is huge."

"Yes... And maybe there's a reason for all these secrets..." Malfoy mumbled, returning to the papers in front of him. Matt ignored the last comment and also went back to work.

A little after that, though, Draco couldn't avoid manifestations of his frustration.

"But there's nothing here!" he exclaimed, pushing the folder away. "It's all a huge mess and there's nothing we don't already know!"

"How could you get to this conclusion so fast? I still haven't reached the middle of my file!"

"It's obvious, isn't it? Anything of interest to us which could be here has already been _conveniently_ removed!"

"By whom?"

"By the same person who created all this mess with these papers!"

"You and your paranoia..."

"It's not paranoia!" Draco exclaimed, standing up angrily and knocking down the chair in the process. "I'm not crazy, you know! And I know very well how to recognise a casement when I see one! And this is what these folders are: a casement, mendacity! Left there to fool the muggles, when everything of value has already been taken!"

"How can you be so sure without looking through everything?"

"I am!"

"Only you, really... " Matt laughed, while turning back to the file.

"Only me why? Is what I'm saying that absurd?" the other asked, serious. He really had to release all that accumulated anger in someone and Matt was the closest candidate.

"No, Draco." O'Brien sighed, resigned. "It's not absurd. I just think you can't be so sure before looking. The folders are all messed up... If they were really searched..."

"If? They _were_ searched. I have no doubts."

"Alright. They were searched."

"And stolen."

"And stolen," Matt agreed sort of against his will. "But it's clear that it was made in a rushed way. Maybe something might have escaped."

"Maybe, maybe... I'm tired of the word," Malfoy responded, lighting another cigarette and starting to walk from side to side, while O'Brien went back to reading the documents carefully. It didn't take too long, though, for him to be interrupted.

"What do you know about this Smith?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean! What do I mean! Was the question too complicated for you to understand?"

"Draco, now you really are going too far!..."

"I'm tired, okay? I'm tired, frustrated, disappointed, nervous, fucked, alone, with the woman I love practically at the altar with another man and, to get worse, I'm asking a simple fucking question which apparently is too difficult for you to understand, so, give me a fucking break, ok?"

"With the woman you love what?"

"Don't ask."

"But, Draco..."

"Don't ask!"

"Did you find Ginny!"

"I've already told you not to ask, dammit!"

"You have, but it's simply not an option! And I have the right to know: did you or didn't you?"

"Oh, I wish it were that easy." Draco laughed nervously.

"But it is easy."

"No, it's not."

"And why not? If she's alive, if you know where she is, if..."

"...if she's getting married to another man..." he added, sarcastically.

"She what?"

"Don't ask. I don't want to talk about it."

"But is she all right? Is she alive?"

"She's fine and she's alive. She only isn't Ginny anymore."

"She's not Ginny anymore! But then, wh..."

"It's a long story and I don't want to talk about it right now, got it? Or will I have to start being impolite?"

"You're always impolite, Malfoy."

"Exactly. Now tell me what you know about that fucking Smith or leave me alone at once!"

"Nothing! I know nothing about the fucking Smith! I've already told you I don't know him!"

"But does he still work in the Organisation?

"I've already told you I didn't remember anyone with that name. And after that I began a research, but the only Smith I found was too young to be our Smith."

"Summarising: you don't know a fucking thing."

"Nothing," the other agreed.

"And don't know who might know? Who worked there in the same period?"

"No."

"Don't you have a registration of the employees? Nothing?"

"Believe me, Draco." Matt shook his head negatively. "It's as if the guy had never existed."

"Or had his records carefully removed by the same person who worked on the files."

"If this is the case, then, why not to vanish with the files for good? It doesn't make sense to keep them, even incomplete."

"Maybe not. The fact is that the files are here, they have Smith's handwriting and signature, so I suppose he's not a product of someone's imagination and, to complete, they were searched and stolen."

"Stolen? Don't you think that word is a little too melodramatic?"

"Stolen, robbed, pilfered, hidden, taken away... You might choose the expression. For me, whatever. It all means the same thing: I'm in a dead end alley again."

"Not necessarily... " Matt said, in a distant tone, like someone who has just noticed something very important. He was apparently quite interested with something in the papers.

"What? Did you find something?"

"Maybe," the other answered, enigmatic.

"You're not sure if it's important?"

"Oh, no. I'm pretty sure it's important."

"What is it, then? A name? A place? A..."

"A ritual."

"What kind of ritual?"

"I'm not sure."

"Then how can you know it's important?"

"Believe me, I know."

"Let me see this." Draco pushed the paper from his hand. "There's nothing here," he said after glancing at the words.

"At the end of the page."

"Yes?"

"Read."

"I can't understand."

"Exactly. It's in archaic Germany."

"But it's just a few words..."

"And do you know what they mean?" the other asked, deadly serious.

"What?" Draco asked, suddenly feeling his heartbeat accelerating.

"They mean 'The Death of The Soul'. But I can't think of any good ritual with this name. Can you?"

"No," Malfoy answered, paling.

It was a little after lunch. Emily entered her house in a rush. After she had finished the so feared conversation with John, she had gone for a walk through the city. In some way, she felt like saying good-bye silently to everything. She knew she couldn't go on with her life there, like she had dreamed. She had to get out of the glass jar she was living in and face the world outside. The big, dangerous and cruel world, but, at the same time, beautiful, seductive and thrilling. There was something else for her, Emily knew. More than that small town, more than the life John had planned for them both. And still, it was hard to say good-bye. It was as if she had to leave behind a big part of herself. And a part that simply didn't want to be forgotten.

She got home still with a heavy expression, and the silence welcomed her, as always. The house was empty. Emily forgot one of the windows was opened, so the light wind made the beige curtains fly, impelled by an invisible force. In a certain way, that's how she felt: acting for something she couldn't describe, that wasn't concrete or tangible, but that was there. And it was more powerful than anything she had ever felt.

Calmly, Emily went to the window and closed it carefully. Then, she stared at the empty room for a while. She was hungry. She knew she should go to the kitchen and prepare something, but she wasn't in the mood. She went towards the phone, instead, with the clear intention of calling some restaurant and ordering the lunch. When she grabbed it, though, her fingers hesitated. There was another person she wanted to call.

The paper was in her pocket. The paper where he wrote his number. So close. So tempting. Emily took it and dialed the number slowly. Then, she held her breath. What would she say? What was to be said, after all? Her heartbeat accelerated while the phone rang at the other end. He would answer at any moment and which reason did she have to be calling? Could she simply say she wanted him to come back? Did he want to come back? Emily knew yes. Somewhere in her brain or in her heart, she was sure about that. A certainty that was beyond the rational comprehension.

While thousands of thoughts passed through her mind, the phone kept ringing. And ringing, and ringing. He wasn't at home, she knew. She still waited a little. A little more than she would normally wait, until she finally gave up, her heart returning to normal, half of it relieved and half of it distressed. "Where could he be?" she asked herself, she couldn't help it. Then, she let herself fall on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. What was she doing with her life?

Soon, she was lost in dreams about what would happen. It wasn't a very advisable practice and the conclusions reached when she was in that state of spirit rarely seemed valid later, but still, Emily couldn't resist. She let herself stay there, quiet, thinking. Before she could get to any decision, though, she was interrupted.

Immediately, she sat down again. That couldn't be right, could it? Her house was empty. What she was hearing on the upper floor couldn't really be steps, could it?

Quickly, Emily stood up and went to the stair.

"Hello?" she asked, looking up. The noise stopped immediately. "Is there somebody there?"

John and Camila were the only ones who had the key. Would it be the doctor, already there to pick up his stuff? Hardly.

Intrigued, Emily started to move upstairs, step by step. There was no intruder upstairs. She was only imagining things, surely. After all, nothing wrong happens in Harmony Springs. Right?

"What happened?" Matt asked, worried, noticing that Draco had let himself fall on the armchair, a lot more pale than usual. "Do you know what it's about?"

"There was a book..." the other answered, after a long pause, staring at the fireplace.

"About 'The Death of The Soul'? Have you read it?"

"No. My father told me about it once. It was a dark magic book. Old and powerful."

"And was it about 'The Death of The Soul'?"

"Yes." His voice was distant. Draco still seemed paralyzed.

"And...?"

"And what?" He was angry for having his thoughts interrupted again.

"What is 'The Death of The Soul'? Am I right to think it's a ritual?"

"Yes. It's a ritual. A very powerful ritual. And very dangerous."

"How? What does it do?"

"It... My God!" Draco exclaimed, taking his hand to his head. "How could I be so stupid!"

"Stupid why? I'm not following!" O'Brien stood up "Could you explain?"

"She's in danger."

"Who?"

"I left her alone, don't you understand? I had no idea..." he completed, standing up too.

"WHO? WHO DID YOU LEAVE ALONE?"

"Ginny, you imbecile! I left Ginny alone! And they're still after her!"

"They who?"

"If I knew who they were, there wouldn't be one left to tell the story, trust me!"

"But why? Why would they go after her after so long? Why..."

"Because the ritual is not complete yet, you imbecile. She's still alive! Merlin! I need to go there..."

"Calm down, Draco!"

"To hell with calm!" the other answered, picking his wand, which was on the table.

"I'm apparating."

"Where is she?"

"In Scotland, in a city called Harmony Springs."

"In Scotland! Are you crazy? It's too far to apparate, Draco!" Matt held his arm. "I won't let you do such a madness! Maybe they don't even know where she is, maybe they..."

"Yes, Matt. Maybe. But I'm not willing to take the risk. Are you?"

"But, Draco..."

"I left her alone, can't you understand that?" Malfoy responded, pulling his arm. "If something happens to her, it's going to be my fault," he concluded darkly, and, with a move of his wand, disapparated.

Matt shook his head negatively. It wasn't right. Without any other choice, though, he also took his wand from inside his pocket and disapparated.

If he had waited a few more minutes, he would've heard the phone ring, which echoed silently for some time in Draco's desert apartment.

In the end, it wouldn't make much difference hearing it or not. The game board was already set, the pawns were in position and the luck was cast. Now, the only thing left was to wait for the outcome.


End file.
